"The Julia"
page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ] "THE JULIA." 'BY THE AUTHOR OF "VARA; OR, THE CHILD OF ADOPTION," AND "NELLIE OF TERUPrO. NEW YORK: ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS, No. 580 BROADWAY. 1859. page: 0-iii (Table of Contents) [View Page 0-iii (Table of Contents) ] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by. ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS, In the clerk's office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. EDWARD O. JENKINS,. Printer & Stereotyper, No. 26 FRANKFORT STREET. C O NTE N TS. PAGE CHAPTER I.-IN PORT . . . . . 9 " II.-ROUND THE CORNER . . . 21 "I.-OUTWARD BOUND . . .. 32 "IV.--TIPSY ALLEY . 4. ... 42 " V.-AT SEA . . . 53 VI.--WHAT HAPPENED ASHORE . 64 "VI.--MORE HAPPENS . . . 71 "VIII.--THE LETTER . . . 83 " IIX.-THE BRIG'S BOY . . 89 " X.-THE CAPTAIN'S ROOM . 100 "XI.-THE BOY'S YARN . . . . 110 "XII.-STEADY WINDS . . . . 126 "XIII.-BECALMED . . .... 131 "XIY.-IN DANGER . . . . 139 "XV.-FAMLY MATTERS . . . .147 "XVI.-HOME AGAI . . . 154 "XVII.-FLAG HALF-MASTED . .. 160 "XVIII.---THE BIRTHDAY . . . . 166 "XIX.-A SURPRISE . . . . . 176 "XX.-A DISAPPOINTMENT . . . 189 "XXI.-HOW IT HAPPENED . . . . 198 "XXII.-INFLUENCE . . . . 208 "XXIII.-THE BRIG TELEGRAPHED . . . 216. (iii) page: iv (Table of Contents) -9[View Page iv (Table of Contents) -9] IV CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER XXIV. -THE FRIENDS . . 229 "XXV. THE MENTOR ... .242 (" XXVI. -A PROPOSITION . ... 247 " XXVII.-AN ACCUSATION ... .253 "XXVIII.--A NEW MATE . . 262 ' XXIX.--A TROPICAL RETREAT . . 271 XXX.-THE VOYAGE . . 279 "XXXT.-THE CAPTAIN' ADRIFT . . . 285 "XXXII.- TIE MATE ADRIFT . 293 "XXXIII.--A RECOGNITION . . . 302 ' XXXIV.-TIIE HAUNTED HOME . . 316 XXXV.-1THE HAUNTED MLL . . 322 "XXXVI.---THE HAUNTED HALL . 328 "XXXVII.--IN PERSPECTIVE . . 342 "XXXVIII.-THE JULIA BOUGHT. . . 350 XXXIX.-THE ENDI OF THE CRUISE . . 360 XL.--DISCOVERIES . 366 XLI.--THE LAST LONG VOYAGE . 3" " LXLII.--THE CONSECRATION . 381 I. i e *'- "ARE you, sir, the captain of this vessel?" The question was pro-forma. The gentleman who asked it had stood full five minutes, himself unobserved, scrutinizing the object of his inquiry; and no one could see Jack Hartsum on the deck of his own brig and doubt that he was her captain-the sense of possession and of command was apparent in every feature, gesture, and in- tonation. Jack Iartsumn was in the street, a clumsy specimen of the genus sailor; in a parlor, beifore strangers, an image of abashed stupidity; but on ship-board, he was Captain Hartsum, self-possessed, self-assured, self-sustained, a man to be remarked and admired; not an unhandsome mlan either, his broad square' bust, large mu scular limbs, shortened legs, and rolling gait had, on ship-board, so much of that fitness of things which is an element of beauty; that he might lay some claim to the title of a nau- tical Adonis. Captain Hartsum had two faces, or a Protean power of change in his one face that made it equal to two or more. One was a hard, weather-beaten, crow-fboted, wrinkled, page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 ' TH JULIA." incrusted mask, with two fierce eyes, blazing under heavy, corrugated eye-brows, and a mouth compressed into a straight line, opening and shutting like a steel trap, just fit for the terrible oathls that flew out of it with, a sharp percussion. This face, which the captain wore at the mo- ment, had deterred the stranger from an earlier assault on the fierce sea-lion. But no sooner dlid the captain turn upon him, with a hearty "Aye, aye, sir," than, presto, the mask became transparent, and there shone through the outer features quite another face. The wrinkles, most of them, disappeared. The brows elevated themselves into a handsome arch, setting off to advantage the broad, sensible forehead, and the large, straigt,t well-formed nose. The eyes beamed only with intelligence. The mouth, rather too large and sensuous perhaps, had a smile upon it, a gentleness, a good humor, more like a child's than a man's; it was a Wonderful mouth, wonder- ful for its differences, before so rigid, now so full, flexible and variable. The transformation, was complete. ' Captain," asked the stranger, in a very different way from the constrained attempt at politeness which marked his first inquiry, "can you accommodate passengers on board your brig?"' "Aye, aye, sir." "There are seven of us," said the stranger, enticed into communicativeness by the genial sunshine of the captain's face; "three ladies-" "Ladies!" ejaculated the captain, with a frightened look. "Yes, married ladies, and four gentlemen, mission- aries-" At that word it was the narrator's turn to be fiightened, so much so that he could not 'pioceed. The captain's ! - IN PO T. " face had changed. The mask, dark, fearful, impenetrable, as any bug-bear to fiighten children, once more concealed the handsome and attractive features that 'had captivated the gentleman in black. The steel trap of a mouth opened, and out flew a horrid oath.' The captain swore he had no room for so many passengers, and no accommo- dations fit for ladies. The missionary bowed, with an air between a sense of offended dignity and a hearty repugnance towards the. offender, and turned to leave the vessel. But he changed his mind, faced about, and addressed the captain again with all the suavity he could command. "Captain, this may be our last chance for a month. We would reach India before the hot season. We shall not mind a little crowding, and will cheerfully submit to inevitable inconveniences." With another oath the captain asserted that it could not be done, and began to vociferate his orders to the crew and hands with such rapidity and clmor as left no chance for further parley. But the missioinary was im- movable. For fifteen minutes he stood there with patient and inflexible determination in his face, vainly trying to gain the captain's attention. At last, by a quick move- ment, he intercepted him, confronted him face to face, and, with the same sort of audacity which those have who fight at the cannon's mouth, looked at and spoke to the fierce mask that glared upon him. "Captain," he said, "Munnypen & Co. say there is ample accommodation for our party on board this brig. They are willing to afford us a passage. They refer our application to you as part owner as well as captain of the vessel. I do not wish to force disagreeable company upon you, but if you consent to take us we will pro- page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] '12 i'T IE JULIA." mise to interfere with you as little as possible. Besides, I have some knowledge of medicine, am a physician as well as a clergyman, and might prowt useful on so long a voyage. I trust you will reconsider your determination, and not refuse us a favor which will cost you so little. I shall call again for your answer to-morrow morning." The decided, bold, manly address of the missionary was not without effect. The mask underwent more than one change while he spoke. The captain did not answer immediately, and the missionary, thinling it was best not to press matters to a premature conclusion, and trusting more to the influence of Munnypen & Co. than his own persuasions, politely signified his wish that the captain would take the subject into consideration, and .with- drew. The hybrid doctor and clergyman had hardly disap peared when eight bells struck. The captain retired to his cabin, doffed his tarpaulin, brushed his hair, put on a blue cloth coat with brass buttons,and a black beaver hat, and left the vessel. No sooner did he step on terra firma than he lost the look of captain, and became plain Jack Hartsum, sailor. Trundling himself along through the streets, returning awkwardly the occasional salute of a merchant or exchanging a more familiar "How d'ye do, my hearty!" with a, brother sailor, and walking shy of every passing woman, he arrived at last at the door of his own two-story house. So soon as his hand touched the door-knob his better face shone out in every feature, illu- minated with benignant good humor, but hardly had lie turned to close the door when, in the instant, the, mask was on again. "Get out of here, you huzzy!" he cried, and an oath put a period to every sentence. "If you wern't a femi- IN PORT. 13 nine I'd strike yqu!" "And I will too if you come here again.!" Let me catch you and I'll-" This was vociferated- as if he were calling to a man, at the mizzen-mast-ihad, in a tone so loud andlshrill that the glass lamp which hung in the hall swung on its chains and rung out a reverberation. The object of his wrath crouched in the corner behind the half-opened door, a. slim girl of forlorn appearance, who, watching her opportunity, darted past the infuriated man out of the door and into the street. Once safe on the side-walk, she stood stock still, looked at the captain with an impudent care-devil air, waited till the volley of oaths and threats had fully exploded, and then would have re- turned his volubility in good measure had he waited to ]iear. "Who cares for you, old - ," she began, but the door was slammed to. The young vixen spun at pirouette on one foot, whirling herself around with amazing velo- city, that showed her not unpracticed in theeart of Terp- sichore, to the vast amusement of all in the street who had been attracted by the colloquy, and then flew off with a hop, slip, and jump, and disappeared in a neighboring alley. Jack Hartsum, who watched through the side-light this saltatory peroration, smiled at her effrontery. "She's an impudent vixen," he exclaimed to Mrs. Iartsum, whom the 'noise had called from culinary de. partients below stairs into the entry above, " but she's got pluck. 'This is the t thetid time I've turned her out of the house. How did she get in, Hannah?" "Gracious me! Jack Hartsum, how should I know. Through the basement door, may be, when Sally went for water. She's like a cat after a mouse. I don't know if she ain't a witch and comes through the key-hole. She's page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " THE JULIA.' been up in lBertie's room, I wager, and like enough brought his fever back." "How is Bertie?" asked the captain with a softer voice than one who had heard him swearing just before would have thought possible. "Bertie is better. But, Jack, the doctor's been here, and seems to me the doctor don't just tell all he thinks. Perhaps, Jack, you'd go and see the doctor and ask him right out what he does think, about Bertie?" "Perhaps I'd best. Let's See; itfs six weeks since he left his room, isn't it?" "Yes, six weeks yesterday."' "And eight weeks since he first complained of that sore throat? "Yes." "You get my dinner, Hannah, and I'll go to the doc- tor's at once.. If he can't cure him, we'll get some one that will." "'I'll just take a look at Bertie and see how he is," answered Mrs,. Hartsum. She had seated herself on the lowest step of the stairs, and her husband leaning on the end of the balustrade bent over her; both spoke sadly and in low tones, as if they would not be overheard. They ascended the stairs together. Egbert Hartsum, twelve years of age, the only son of his piarents, and their idol, strong and vigorous till a recent and slight attack of scarlet fever had been followed, the effects of a cold, by general prostration and glandular swellings-now emaciated, pale, and nervously excitable; who but his parents could look at him and not know that the doctor did not say the half he thought of his case. "How do, Bertie?" in a cheery voice, was the IN PORT. 15 father's salutation, and the only word he spoke to the in- valid for some time. But he sat down by the bed-side and kept smoothing the hair and patting the head of the boy with his big, brown, knotted, seamed and scarred hand, as softly as if that hand was a womanrs. "H1as that dance-girl been up here again?" asked the mother. "Yes." ' "]How long? "An hour, at least, I should think." "An hour! Why didn't you knock on the floor, as I told you to, and I'd sent her packing!" "I didn't want you to." "Didn't want to! Why I thought she worried you always. You told me never to let her come again." "Well, mother, somehow I begin to like her coming. She didn't teaze me at all to-day. She was as quiet as a mouse, and did just what I wanted her to. And she said it did her so much good to see me; nobody else was kind to her, and she didn't care for anybody else in the world. So please, mother, let her come as often as she chooses." "That's. queer!" ejaculated Mrs. IartsLam. "But I can't stay to talk or my dinner 'll spoil." When Mrs. Hartsun had left the room, the captain asked Bertie how he ever came to make the acquaintance of this "What do you call her?" "'Dance-girl,' mother calls her. The boys call her 'Stell.' She says her name's Estelle, Estelle Saltore., Her father was once an actor, and her mother, a dancer in the theatre. They both drink. They hired her out, when only six years old, to an organ-grinder to dance in the streets. Last winter she danced in ballets in the theatre. But her father and mother drank up all her earnings." page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 'THE JULIA." "But how did Bertie find out all this?" asked the captain. "Well, father, you see, one day, a year ago, may be, the boys were teazing her, and I took her part; and since that she's looked on me as a 'kind of friend. Then, one day, I was eating an apple, and saw her looking kind o' wistfully at it, and so I gave her a piece; and, from the way she ate it, I thought perhaps she had n't enough to eat. So, after that, I used, when I saw her coming, to get a piece of bread and butter, or molasses, and make believe to be eating it myself, and then make believe I'd had enough, and ask her if she would n't please take it. And so at last it happened that almost every day she'd be about when I came home from school, and be ready to take whatever I'd give her. But she's a, queer girl. She wouldn't take the least bit of anything from anybody else. She"d rather starve than beg; and I don't believe she would steal or lie :for any money. , And yet she seems a sort of bad girl, too!" This conclusion, so naively and honestly stated, excited the father's laughter. Loud and sonorous it was. But, observing the boy's languor, he reproached himself for allowing him to talk so much-arranged the pillows, and resumed the silent and gentle stroking of that pretty brown hair. Captain Hartsumi was grave and thoughtful on ship- board, that afternoon. He swore little, and laughed not at all. Grave and thoughtful he was when he returned home. His wife studied. his countenance, to read there the doctor's opinion, but cared not to ask it. In the even- ing they sat together in the basement room. Their two daughters were up stairs, taking care of Bertie. Jack's, old mother sat in the corner, knitting. She was de'af, IN PORT. and seldom hindered any confidential communications be- tween other members of the family. "The doctor, Jack?" the wife. at last ventured. "Says it's bad, Hannah." There was a long silence. Then he spoke again. "I've most made up my mind, Hannah. Yes, I may say the reekoning's took, and the course laid out. I've about considered all the bearings of this matter, and, on the whole, I see nothing else to be done. If I was re- ligious, I might consider it somewhat Drovidential. They'd, call it so, I suppose." "They! Who? What are you talking about?" "The missionaries. You see, Hannah,-there's a lot of missionaries wants to sail with me. Now, you know, I hate that vermin on shipboard, where you can't get out of the way of them, worse than rats. They'll be inter- fering with a man's private opinions; snooping about into your very conscience, where nobody but yourself has a right to look, I take it. Preaching and praying all the time, in forecastle, cabin, and on deck, till there is n't a place to go for a decent man, except the crow's nest. If they come up there"-and Jack swore---"I'll give them salt water." ' "I would n't take them at all," the wife said, 'ith indignant vehemence. "Bu t then, Hannah, there's a doctor among them, and women folks; and they, you know, if I should take Ber- tie, could have a care of him. And if he got well enough, they'd teach him, like enough, if I 'd pay them. I would n't be under obligations to them, no way. But if they 'd take pay, Bertie'would n't lose so much of his schooling, you know." ' Jack Hartsum!" exclaimed Htannah, putting a hand page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 "THE JULIA." on each of his knees, and gazing into his face with a wild, imploiing, agonized look. The captain winced under it. He tried to brave it, but could not. His countenance and voice both fell, as he answered: "I am not crazy, Hannah. I do really intend to take Bertie to India with me. It inay do him good. Doctor says so." "Take Bertie away from me and he sick! and no mother to tend him! Take him to die, and be eaten up by the fishes!"'. All this Mrs. Hartsum said as if talking to herself, and trying mentally to realize the captain's plan. Then suddenly turning upon her husband, she burst into a laugh, half of reproach, half of taunting ridi- cule. "Ha! ha! ha! You do really intend to take Bertie to die at sea, without even so much as asking his mother, 'if you please.' But you sha n't do it; and there's an end of it! You've made a false reckonino once in. your life; Jack Hartsum! You may be captain on board the Julia; but you 've no such power to do just what you like in this family. And you sha n't take my poor sick boy." Jack Hartsum and his wife rarely quarrelled. The captain, so imperious and absolute on board the brig, usually succumb)ed at home to the strong will of his wife, whose good sense seldom allowed any abuse of he' power. But this evening he. neither looked angry, nor submis sive, but only grieved, as if he wished she had taken another view of the subject and spared him the pain of an argument. "Hannah," he said, "'the doctor says Bertie's only chance of life is a sea voyage. He says, he can t live without some change. And, oh! Hannah-if he does go -he may die!" And the big, strong, rough man put IN PORT. 19 both his hands up to his face and wept and sobbed like a child. j 'Hannah was pale as death. Had her husband raised his eyes to her face he would have been alarmied. At length, impressed by her silence, le did look up. "annah!" he exclaimed. "Oh, dear Jack, good husband!" she broke out with sudden energy, " let me go too. Do not take my boy from lne. Let nme go too." The father riihs silent. "Speak, speak John; say that I may go!" "Can't, Hannah.! There is n't room in the Julia for all. Besides, there's the girls and granny.!!" "Eh? Eh? What's all this?" exclaimed the old woman, whose attention had been at length excited, and was now completely aroused by hearing her own name proniounced. ' I say, what is it?" she asked, with senile irritability. You 're always talking, and never tell me. And now you're crying! Yes, Jack; you, an old wicked sailor, you are crying, and it's about me, for I heard my name. Tell me what it is, won't you'? If I 'm in the way, I 'll go off. I took care of myself and you too, once, Jack Hartsum, and I can earn my living again, if I am eighty years old. 'WShy don't you tell me, you children?" All this was spoken in the high, sharp, querulous tone, so peculiar to old age. "Mother"-it was her son that answered-"we 're cry- ing because Bertie 's very sick; and I want to take him to sea--the doctor says it would be good for him-and Hannah don't want me to." "Go to sea! ' exclaimed the old woman--seizing on the one fact. "Do him good! Never did anybody good . page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 1"T lE JULIA.' yet. Did n't do you good, Jack IIartsum. It made you a cursing, ,wearing, wicked sailor! And now you're going to make Bertie, miy Bertie, a sailor! "No, mnother, not a sailor, only a-- "Yes, you are. You 're always deceiving me. You're going to make him a sailor. And his mother 'll lie awake at nights to hear the wind blow, as I used to do, all, all alone! Her only son! And when he does come home, only hear him curse and swear, and never make a Chris- tian of him. But I'ml' old and in the way. You, none of you care for me, or what I say. I always knew you'd make a sailor of him, or might have known it. You do it just because I don't want it. Anything to teaze granny!" And so., talking and scolding, the old lady went on, till at last she wandered entirely from the sub- ject, and quite forgot it, by falling asleep in her chair. The next day, thie Rev. Christian De Seiple, M. D., was informed that the missionaries could have berths in. the Julia, on her next voyage to Calcutta. *? II. TELL hoped, skipped, and jumped till she turned 8 TELL hopped, skipped, and jumped till she turned down the alley. Then she slackened her pace, as if even she, accustomed to it as she was, felt the depression of the noisome air of that crowded, dirty alley. She stopped at the second house, mounted the short flight of narrow stone steps, and seated herself on the topmost one. Had an artist chanced to pass, he would have asked for her likeness; at least, he would have taken out his note-book and made notes 'of study for his next gipsey girl; to wit-"Slim girl, long limbed; attitude, remem- ber, graceful, very so "-a sketch here that tells nothing- "face, thin, sharp, cunning; expression, wicked, queer, earnest; complexion, cark; eyes, say gray; nose large; nostrils dilated; mouth, large, remarkable; hair, thick, jetty black, elaborately braided,' only part of dress that shows care, or even neatness; soiled cotton shawl pinned rounld the neck, more for concealment than warmth, for beneath it is a torn, dirty pink silk bodice, with low neck, short sleeves-inadequate covering this cool day, very! and inappropriate adjunctive of the worsted 'skirt- said skirt very short, displaying nearly to the knee the legs-such legs-muscular, unfeminine, unchildlike- answer for a Boadicea; age, say seventeen." Stell was in fact only fourteen. (21) page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 ' "THE JULIA." But while our- imaginary artist has been sketching in his imaginary note-book her likeness, Stell has buried her - face in her lap, and sat still and motionless for a long, long- time. WNha t was she doing? Stell, the vicious, impudent, ill-bred. Stell, was crying -shedding tears of real tenderness and affection for the little sick boy round the corner, and wishing, in the bitterness of an unhappy spirit, that she could die, and he could live. Could Jack Hartsumn have seen her then, and read her thoughts, would he have scowled on her with that masked face, and cursed her with his blasphemous mouth? They were weeping and mourning together in spirit at that very moment; but neither knew it. What revelations, what discoveries might the power to look round a corner give! Oh! rum! Degrader of manhood! Tormentor and destroyer! Thy bligcht is fatal to all that is good and beautiful! Childhood and genius are thy victims! Dirt, vulgarity, vice, and woe, thy progeny! Thus might; Stell have exclaimed, when, having at last risen from her seat and ascended to the second story of the house, she entered the apartments which she called her holme-uncarpeted, unwashed, t-nswept, unfurnished. Home! What a misuse of language. The tipsy father was not there. The inebriate mother was lying on a bed in an adjoining closet. Stell looked in there and darted one glance of disgust at that heap of drunken woman- kind tumbled up among the dirty bed clothes. Stell went to a cupboard, seeking a dinner. A bottle stood on the lowest shelf; she dashed it indignantly on the floor. She searched for something else, and found one poor crust of bread and half a dozen miserable potatoes. She looked at the stove ; not a spark of fire in it; no apparent means of kindling one. She threw the potatoes back, ate the ROUND THE CORNER. 23 crust of bread, and seated herself on the only chair the room afforded, with her back to the window and her eyes fixed on vacancy. Stell was thinking; not of hunger-she was used to that---but of something that had often come into her mind during the last twelve months, since she had been promoted firom the side-walk to the hardly more respect- able boards of an obscure theatre-something that her interview with Bertie Hartsum to-day had revived with new force; it was-how to become respectable ' how to better her condition? how to be another than "the brat," "the vixen,' "the hussy," whom men, women, and chil- dren, saluted with oaths or jests, or insulting pity? What could she do? Ask advice of her mother? There she was, beastly drulk; and if she iere not, the little sense she once had was gone. Her father? He, too, was seldom sober; and when he was, he was spiritless and nel -eless, and had lost hope for himself and all the world besides. Stell knew she must depend upon herself alone. And what should she do? The first thing was to get clothes; her woman's instinct suggested this; he: know- ledge of the world endorsed it. Dress was power. Did she not know it? Stell in dirt and tatters in the stieet was hustled, hooted, despised. The same Stell, tricked up in finery and the mere tinsel of showy costumes in the theatre, commanded respectful and almost kindly treatment. She must have clothes. To get these was a first and a long step towards the greater need she felt-- the greater good sihe craved-instruction, learning, edu- cation. Dress for the body, dress for the mind; and Stell's notions of both weree of a very ornamental kind. Both could be bought; how could she get the money? -Her wages at the theatre were paid to her father; she page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 '^"TnE JULIA." never handled a cent of them, save when sent on an errand. She must earn more for herself. How? The woman up stairs in the attic sewed and got money, but got very little, and grew paler and thinner every day. Stell loved life and liberty, if she were wretched. No; she would not barter them for money, even if the attic seamstress would take the trouble to teach her. What else then? Sell newspapers? She could fight the boys if they teased her. Or sell oranges? But how begin? Where get money for the first outlay? Stell was in perplexity. She went down stairs, and took her seat again on the topmost stone step; that was her usual thinking-place. The alley, foul as it was, was better than the wretched room within doors. She could see the sky firom there; and many a night-hour had she sat shivering on that door step, gazing up into the star- lighted patch of heaven above her head, weaving new fictions out of the old plays she had seen acted at the theatre. Sometimes, too, an adventurous wind, sweet and refreshing with the taste of purer atmospheres, would find its way into the alley. There -was one at that very moment. It came with a flurry, rushing about, trying to find a way out of the dirty alley. Besides rattling shut- ters, rolling away an empty barrel, and raising a great dust, it disarranged Stell's hair. Peevishly, because it interrupted her thoughts, she untied the string and let the whole mass of braids, long, broad, narrow, and inter- secting braids, fall upon her neck. Then rapidly and dexterously she restored them to order, emptying her mouth of hair-pins as fast as her hands could fly from that receptacle to her head above. It was a lucky acci- dent. It gave her the missing thought. She had it: she could dress hair. The German wife of the Italian ROUND THE CORNER. 25 organ-grinder, who first employed her saltatory talents, had taught her this art. She had since practised it with the devotion of an enthusiast to a single accomplishment. Ier skill had been acknowledged even in the green-room of the theatre, the highest umpire of taste within the scope of her experience. Yes, she could and would be a hair-dresser; and her two avocations of coil'eure and danseuse need not interfere; in the one capacity she would provide for her own wants, and 'in the other keep her parents in rum and other necessaries of life. In the excitement of the moment she executed a pas-seul of the liveliest description in the'dirty alley, to the admiration of the lazy women lolling about at windows and door- ways, and then darted up stairs to put herself in readi- ness for the immediate execution of her purpose. There was a hair-dresser a few- blocks off. She had often passed his shop and loitered at the door to catch somne new idea, or learn the latest style. She had even known him to be employed by the very distinguished actresses 'who sus- tainedc the first parts in the theatre where she danced. She would go to him, and offer her services at once. She regained the second floor, and proceeded to hullnt up her hat and to scrutinize her wardrobe. Alas! the old dilemma recurred. She had plenty of rags, torn cos- tumes that had once added to the splendor of scenic effects, but she had not one complete, honest, decent dress--not one that would not be likely to ensure her speedy ejection from any respectable establishment she might venture into. Her clothes might answer :or beg- ging bread in, which she would not do, but not for beg ging wrorkl in, which she longed to do. As this conviction 'slowly gained possession of her mind, Stell grew inbecile. She neither wept, nor exclaimed aloud against her fate, page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 ";THE JULIA." nor sighed and moaned; but she sank down on the floor in a state of hopeless inaction, and there she lay; it might have been :for half an hour-a lazy, good-for- naught, as many a one would have called her-in reality, a helpless could-do-naught. Stell was aroused from her apathy by a knock at the door, and the instant entrance of Mrs. Hartsum's Sally. What a dirty, smelling place! Phew!" exclaimed the dainty kitchen maid. "Who asked your opinion?" was Stell's rejoinder, who in the instant had regained her feet and her temper. Sally's eye had reconnoitered the room, and, in a ten- derer voice now, she added: "I guess you'se poor, though. Ain't you?" "It's hone of your business. Clear out, can't you?" " You needn't be cross." Sally's voice liad in it now the music which real sympathy alone can give, not proud pity, but sisterly, equalizing sympathy. "I've been poor too-hungry-starved. I'se a poor orphan, Stell, till - Mrs. Hartsum tuk m e in." "Were you?" said Stell, and, strange as it may seem, she now was sorry for poor Sally. She whose parents were drunkards felt richer and happier as she looked on one who had no parents at all,. An orphan! That was a inisery she had never known! "Yes, Stell. And Miss Hartsum wants to be kind. to you, I guess; for she sent le to ask you-to come and see her." Stell's pride was up again. "Can't do it," she an- swered. "Why? '" asked Sally, with undisguised wonder in her stupid face. ROUND THE CORNER. 27 "Too busy!" was the curt answer. Sally looked around to see what "the busy " was, and was more bewildered than ever. "Miss Hlartsum sent me to ax you," she repeated. "Can't come!" said Stell, decisively. "Won't come, you mean," retorted Sally, provoked out of good nature. "Well, then, woon't come," said Stell, impudently. "Go away, will you?" and all the bad expression camne back to her face. "Miss Hartsum 'll be sorry, and Bertie too," said Sally, relenting. "Bertie?" exclaimed Stell; "he don't want me?" "Yes, he does though." "Sure?" "Yes; sure.' "Well, I'll come; right off." Sally left instanter, and had but time to tell Mrs. Hartsum that "Stell's folks were monstrous poor," when Stell herself knocked at the basement door. "Does Bertie want me?" she asked, as Mrs. Hartsum opened the door. "Yes, and I want you, too." "I came to see Bertie," was her quick answer,- trying at the same time to press by Bertie's mother. But Mrs. Tartsumn planted herself in the way. "Bertie asked me to give you some clothes. Wouldn't you like them?" "No!" she said, angrily and then, hesitatingly, and almost in a whisper, for the secret loniging was strong, she said, "Yes." "Here they are," said Mrs. Hartsum, leading the way, as she spoke, into the front basement room. .j page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 "THE JULIA." But Stell stood still. "Will you sell them?" she asked, suddenly and eagerly. "I'l give them to you," was the kind answer. "Will you sell themn?" she impatiently demanded. "No; I will not," was the half-angry answer; I'll give them to you, but I don't sell old clothes." "And I don't take old clothes. I ain't a beggar," was the prompt, angry response; and, quick as spoken, Stell mounted to the top of the stairs, hardly touching them in her aeriel spring, and was on her way to Bertie's room. Mrs. Harusum followed her as a snail might pursue a race-horse, though she used all possible expedition. This ineffectual chase after Stell increased the feeling of annoy- ance Stell's refusal of her kindness had caused, but the moment she entered Bertie's room her anger gave place to astonishment at the suddeh taniisformation in the dance-girl. Stell, pert, rude, and independent befre others, with ]3ertie Hartsum alone was soft, gentle, thnd affectionate.( Mrs'. Hartstum could hardly believe the testimony of her eyes when she saw Stell sitting so quietly by the bed- side, with a face full, of love and gentleness. Bertie's thin hand lay confidingly in hers, and her gaze riveted oil his pallik countenance witlh an expression of ineffable tenderness and sympathy. Mrs. Hartsum had no tact. She felt awkward and constrained because she coulc not give vent to the ebullition of anger she had felt a ninute before, and did not know what to, substitute in its place. She asked Bertie an aimless question or two, tried soml experiments by way of making him comfortable, such as piling up pillows under his heaid, leaving his back unsup- ported, and then removing the pillows and letting his head fall to its original level with a jerk that made the ROUND THE CORNER. 29 poor boy groan. Having accomplished these expert tricks at ,nursing, Mrs. Hartsum left' the room and re- tr6ated to parts below. "Did mother say anything to you when you cLame in?" asked Bertie, who suspected that something had gone wrong. Yes." "What?" "Asked me if I wanted a dress, and wanted to give me one." "Did you take it?" "Don't you want it?" glancing at the fbrlorn' attire which Stell tried to lide under the cotton shawl. "Yes, very much," exclaimed Stell with energy. "I had been thinking this very afternoon if I only could get one! Oh! Bertie, if I only could, I think I could be more like other folks," and Stell dropped her head on her lap and grew very sad. "Dear Stell-" begaln Bertie. "Do you love me?" interrupted Stell. "I donlt know," answered the boy dubiously, as if thinking about it. "You called me 'dear Stell,'" she said reproachlfilly, "and I thoughlt you never lied."' The boy smiled half anusedll, more sorrowfully. Well, Stell, I do like you, only it seems as if I don't exactly love you. Perhaps I shall, though, if you only go on implroving as you have lately. But, Stell, whl, didnl't you take the dress?" "Because she wanted to give it to me, and I wanted to buy it. I ain't a beggar, Bertie, and I wont be. -I'll starve, freeze, and die first!" page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 ' TIIE JULIA." Ah! it was the old trait of independence Bertie had often before noticed in this bad, wayward girl. It was a hard thing to deal with. "Stell, what makes you so-" he heesitated " so stiff and prolud about taking favors from people?" "I don't know. I suppose it's in me, to begin with folks are different, you know. Then I've always been used to taking care of myself; and then nobody ever did do me a favor that they didn't think they'd bought the right to turn around and abuse me; and then, Bertie, at the theatre, oh! therle are such grtancd plays-kings and queens, heroes and heroines, they call them, and when I see and hear them, seems to me it's all real, and I get their notions into my head and have such dreams of what I may be yet; sometimnes I think I'm a real, sure, right- fil queen of some great country, immensely rich and stole away - an- d 01oh, Blertie! but it's hard to come back after all these great thoughts to be called namles and treated as a lying begg ar! Oh! how happy I am in the theatre! Nobody calls me 'Stell' there, but Mad'moiselle :Estelle. Bertie won't you call me Estelle? Do!" "Yes, if you like it. Mad'-- how is it?" "Oh, no. Just Estelle. And I'll call you ' Egbert,' that sounds grander, you know." "Well, Estelle!" "How nice that is," and the girl laughed a childish laugh such as suited her years, and it was not often she did anything childlike. "Say it again, Egbert."- "Estelle." "'Egbert." "Estelle." And they repeated the names an indefinite number of times, much to Stell's delight. But the voice of the invalid grew fainter. He was tired. She saw it, and lapsed into silence, holding ROUND TIIE CORNER. 31 his hand and almost her own breath. She thought he was sleeping, but after a time lie opened his eyes and spoke again. "Estelle, I can't see just how it is, but I am sure you oughtt to take that dress, and to thank mother for giving it to you. Seems to me you're ungrateful." "Not to you, Egbert? "No. But to everybody else. If you were more po- lite and well-behaved-- ' "Pshaw! Everybody 'd abuse me. You must fight or be trod on." "But, then, if anybody is kind to you, you ought to thank them."' "I'd thank her if she'd sell it to me, and sell me a hat and shawl too. I'd soon earn money to pay her." Bertie laughed outright now. "Well, ask her civilly and thank her for lier' kindness and perhaps she will. Tell her I want her to. Everybody does wlat I want: guess there's some magic in me.' There, go down stairs now and do it right off; and come back and see me to- morrow. Good bye, Estelle." "Good bye, Egbert." Stell spoke her thanks to Mrs. Hartsunm with. the air of a bidden child, and expressed her wish to possess a dress, Ibat, and shawl, if only she might be permitted to pay for them when she could. Mrs. Hartsum displayed more wonder than cordiality in granting the' request. And Stell left the house with all the articles she had mentioned,' lhappier in their possession than the richest lady in tlat great city in the contemplation of her costhest purchases that day! page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] "I. N five days the Julia was to sail. The work of prepar- ation for the young invalid's departure, employed all hands and all thoughts. Fanny and Cleopatra Hartsum, the two sisters, older and younger than Bertie, were kept from their school to help with the needle at home. Fanny, who never liked trouble, thought it "all non- sense this sendingci the sick child away," (she delighted in the privileges of seniority and always spoke of her brother as quite infintile,) "he would be as likely to get well at homle as at sea; and if he could not oet well, then, of course, it were better that he should stay .at home." Cleopatra, who looked on the bright side of things, quite liked this "staying at home from school to work for dear Bertiie; and then it was so pleasant to know that somethingl at last was to be done; he would go to sea-keep father company-and come back s8o well, and have so much to tell!" Cle', as they called her, made the house merry with her singing, as she ran up stairs and down stairs, always ready to do what no one else cared to. She did them all good. They were glum enough, and could hardly have maintained even the semblance of resignation, without her cheery influence. : 32) OUTWARD BOUND. 33 Bertie lhimself,. indeed, received the intelligence of the projected voyage, with a curious mixture of surprise, dread, and delight. Nor did the excitement injure him, as tthey had feared; it seemed rather to stimulate and buoy him up with fresh life and courage. The mother suffered most, in view of the expected separation. The aged grandmother made the greatest ado about it. It was not till the third day that the old lady fairly took in the idea, the reality, that Bertie, her pet and favorite among the children, was to go to sea. She had been kept out of his room as much as possible, for the necessity of elevating his voice in speaking to her fatigued him. This morning, however, she watched her opportunity, and made her way up stairs unobserved. Beitie heard her slow and toilsome ascent. He was sitting in ,an easy ' chair, in front of a diminutive fire, and had a sinile ready for her on her entrance. "H Iow d'ye do, granny? But the grandmother, tremulous with age and the effort of climbing two pair of stairs, could-not answer at once. Taking a chair and waiting for breath, she laid her head on the boy's shoulder and kept uttering that poor, little, feeble moan, which is peculiar to the old and childish. "Um-m-m." "Whaft is the matter, granny?" "Poor Bertie-poor granny! Um-m--nn. Poor granny--poor Bertie! Ul--m-m. Dear, dear, dear, oh me! Bertie's going to be a wicked sailor-going away from granny forever!" "Granny!" the little boy exclaimed. But she would not listen. "Grainy, glranny,' he repeated in a louder tone, pulling his shoulder away, so that she must lift her head, or let it fall on the arm of the chair. page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 " TIIE JULIA." "What?" she responded pettishlly. "Look here, granny," and he ex:tended his armi, thin, skin and bone thin, and made the old lady feel it With her hand. "Urn--m--m!" she resumed her moaning. "Poor dear, dear, poor!" "And look here, granny," and he disencumbered one leg from the quilt that was thrown around him, and held it up for her inspection, and made her feel it with her hand. She, dull cas her senses were, was startled at the dis- covery of his extreme emaciation. He saw whlat impres- sion had been made, and screaned into her ear: "Granny, the doctor says I must die if I don't go to sea. H feel ,so too. I've felt so a good whllile. But I'Pm going to sea, not to be a sailor, but to get, well and come back and take care of you." "Ah! well; what must be, must," the grandmlother replied, looking upon the matter more calnmly, now that she understood it. "But, Bertie, don't be a sailor, a bad wicked sailor. I want you to be a Christian. Jack wouldn't be. I suppose 'twas my fault. I weren't nor over good, never! 'But I wanted him to be a Christian; and I want you to be, and I never was cross and ugly to you as I usedL to be to him." '"No, dear granny, you've always been kind to me; and you've taught ime all the religion I ever did know." "Oh, dearie, how good it makes me feel to hear you say that. John, and. Hannah, and all of'cm, have got no religion. And oh! how your poor old granny has longed, and prayed, and yearned, for her own dear pet of a Bertie!" "Dear granny, you ought to trust more in God." O UT \VARDj) BOUND.. 35 "Yes, dearie; so I will, so I wlill." And so the two talked, children both, till Bertie plead weariness, and composed himself to sleep. From that hour the gralndmother could hardcly be per- suaded to leave Bertie's room. Her mind revived; her hlearing was quicker; her movements more rapid; her temper more placid. She insisted, in her desire to be useful, upon doing many things, which had to Ibe undone and done, over; and filled up the intervals of time in knitting socks for Bertie. And thus she sat, hour after hour, her fingers moving, the needlkes clickinvg, and her eyes fixed on the. boy with yearning affection, her ears open to every sound of his voice; unwillilig to lose one expression of his :ftce, or one word of his lips, now that she was so soon to lose both--perhaps for ever! During all these days, Stell came not to the hlouse. At this Bertie expressed his wonder. Twice Sally was sent round the corner to inquire albout the girl, and brought ,back word that Stell was well, but not at home. just theli. Stell never got the messages that were left for her. The eventful day arrived. What a blessing work is- hurried, imperative work: that must be done, and leaves no time for tears and emotions! Work occupi ed all the members of the Hartsurn family, except the old grand- motherl. Her socks were finished and packed; and the very hurry of the others made them thoughtlessly request ller to desist, whenever she tried to help them. So she had nothincg to do; everything to suffer. She went tot- tering about, trembling in every limb, mumbli:ng to her- self, unnoticed by any but Bertie. He would beg her, for his sake, to be contented. "Yes, yes, dearie, so I will. We'll meet in heaven, ,* a page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 I'"TnII JULIA."' won't we! And you won't be a wicked sailor, will you, dearie? Oh., dea ar, c ear, de al!" The carriage camel. Jack Hartsumn carried the boy out in his arns. The old lady had barely time to kiss his forehead and lay her hands on his head, ere the strong man had lifted him up and was going down stairs. She hobbled after, and got -down and at the door only in time to see the carriage driven away. They had left her liter- ally alone; and she would have been alone, no more, no less, if all had stayed and Bertie only had gone. Where was Stell? Equipped in her new old clothes, she had been success- ful in her application at the hair-dresser's. After much questioning, debating, and trial of her skill, she was em- ployed at low wages. From early morning to late even- ing, she was busy. Not always- dressing the heads of veritable ladies; but working false hair into curls aind braids, making pomatumls and hair-dyes and hair-washes, and in all other ways receiving initiation into the mys- teries of barber-isn. She had little time for visiting. 'With decent clothes for herself, came the desire of making home decent; and between sweeping, washing, and cooking, she could find no idle moments, at seasonable hours, to give to Bertic Hartsum. At last, however, she could wait no longer. She must go. She had come home; her uncooked din- ner, purchasedl by herself at earliest market hours, was in the closet; her drunken mother was on 'the bed.' She must either go without dinner, or go without seeing Bertie another day. She decided on'the former.' She was on her way down stairs, when a voice from above stopped lher; a very husky, wheezy voice: "Stel t please look after Carrie, just for an hour, while OUTWARD BOUND. 37 I go with these shirts." It was the thin, attic seamstress. "Can't," was Stell's answer. "Oh! Stell-- "Vell, send her down. I'll take her along with me." A six-year old child, neat and very pietty, came down in answer to this response; and Stell marched off with her, paying no attention to the injunctions of the anxious mother, who confessed that nothing but imperative ne- cessity would induce her to trust Stell with such a charge at all, Stell hurried round the corner and approached Captain Hartsum's house. The door was open, and old Mrs. Hartsum sitting on the door-step, with her face buried in her apron, moaning. Leaving Carrie on the steps, Stell glided past the old lady, and made her way up to Bertie's rooml. It was vacant. In a moment she was down stairs, in the kitchen, in the fiont-basement room, up stairs again, in the parlors, in the other bed-rooms; the whole house was explored, and no one was to be found. With a face full of d n hert of disay, and eat fl of isgivin, she came back at length to old Mrs. Hartsum, and shook her by the shoulder. t"Were's all? Where's Bertie?" "Gone. UmL-m-m--m." "Gone? Bertie, I say," screaming louder, "where's your g'randson Bertie?" "Gone!" anld the old lady went on wit1h her moaning. "Gone--dead?" and Stell screamed it out, mnoe in anguish than to make it audible. "o, I 'aint dead," said the old lady snappishly; "I'm only heart-sick." "Bertie, I said; is Bertie dead " "No, child, Bertie 'aint dead yet; he's only gone." page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 "T lIE JULIA" "Gone wheire?'" "Gone to sea!" When? ' "Just nomw." "Oh dear!" and Stell sat down on the door-sill, and cried too. But she was not used to crying. She had suffered too much from the hard knocks of the world, to indulge in tears and sensibilities. Her mind was always ready for. action. "Has he really gone, old woman? Has he sailed?" "I guess not." What's the vessel? ;' "Jack Hartsum's." "What's her name?" "The Julia. Everybody knows that's Jack's brig," said the old lady impatiently. "Where is she? whereabouts in the river?" "' I don't know." Stell started for the river at hap-hazard. Of course she went in the wrong direction; but this was not her only hinderance. Little forgotten feet were pattering behind her and an unheard voice calling out to her to wait. Then a rough man seized Stell by the armn: "' take care of the child!" he said angrily. "Botheration!" ex- claimed Stell, as her eye fell on little Carrie. It was too late to return; there was no one to leave her with, if she should. Dragging the child along, she pursued her way. After many fruitless inquiries, and a walk' of at least two miles, at last she found the dock where the Julia lay, or, rather, where at that moment she was swinging out into the river, fastened only by the stern with hawsers that were creaking, straining, and groaning, round the post. OUTWARD BOUND. 39 "Is that the Julia?" she asked, pushing her way through the crowd of boys and men. "Yes," was the answer., . The next instant there was a rush of the crowd on the dock to the side of the wharf, and a rush of those on board to the stern of the vessel, to behold the strange sight of a young and respectably dressed girl, with a child in her arms, walking those creaking, straining, groaning ropes. Every sound ceased, every heart beat. It was but for a moment. Safely as a cat, nimbly as a deer, and more gracefully than ever a sailor could have done it, the girl ran along the thick hawser, seized the davit with one hand, and swung herself and her burden on the deck. Then a shout, loud, exulting, and jubilant, greeted the adventure from shore and shipboard. The neighboring vessels caught it up, and again and again the excited multitudes repeated the huzza. Captain Hartsum's recognition' of Stell changed the greeting with which he was about to welcome this unex- pected visitor, into a malediction. "How dare you!" he began, with his mask on and oaths flying; "with that child, too!" But just then a sailor boy, by accident or design, inter- posed himself between the captain and Stell. "Don't mind him!"' he said, to the latter. "That I don't," she answered saucily; at the same time taking the oppor- tunity afforded to elude the captain, and make her way to the cabin. There she found the object of her search. Bertie's surprise when Stell entered gave a deeper glow to his pleasure, and this, compensated Stell for the risk of her singular entree. Why she had not called to see him, and how, not having received his messages, she (', . page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 CCTIE JULIA." had been kept in ignorance of this. sudden departure, were explained in a word. "And who is this, Estelle ," he asked, looking at the little child; ' will you kiss me?" Carrie showed no reluctance, though she shrank timidly from all the rest. But Stell and her little charge -were crowded away from the sick boy.. His mother, sisters, and Sally, en- grossed her darling; and she could only watch in silence that countenance wwhich alone in the crowded world shone in beautyand love on the poor, vagrant, street girl. The minutes were few. The brig had sw'uilg out of the dock.; the steam-tug was attached; and orders camle for. all to leave who did not belong to the vessel. Stell was hurried off with the rest. There was little chance for her in those hasty leave-takings. A smile, yes, and a kiss from Bertie, as lie put in her hand a letter which he had reclaimed from Sally, to whlose care it Aw:as originally consigned ;, and Stell was pushed away. Tlhey stepped from the brig to a ship beside it, and thence to the wharf; and turned to see the Julia already in motion. Mrs. Hartsum and her family entered the hired hack that was waiting for them, and watched the Julia, as she moved out into the centre of the river. Carrie was pulling Stell and begging to go home. "Please take. her home," asked Stell of Sally; "she lives in our house, and her mother 'll be looking for her."' Room. was. made for her in the carriage, and it drove away. And Stell--all, all alone-sa;t down on the wharf, and watched, and watched, and watched the brig, till, it grew small as a speck and vanished away., And still she sat there looking after it, till the twilight came and OUTWARD BOUND. 41 stole away the distant blink of sunshine on lhe crested waves. Once and again rude boys would have dis- turbed her. She leeded them not; and the wharfmen, recognizing in her the heroine of the day, and respect- ing the sisterly love, as th ththought it, which chained her there, guarded her from insult, with rough but ef- fective courtesy. page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] IV. TELL was sad enough, as she walked home. But it was not sorrow that struck so shiveringly to her very heart as she entered the front second-story room; it was a creeping feeling of horror. The room was dark. Neither candle-light nor fire-light showed its barrenness of comfort. Only the street-lamp at the corner shone feebly down the dark alley-way and through the small windows of Stell's home. "Mother," she called.' No answer. She went into the closet, and felt on the bed; "' Motherl" was there, drunk yet; drunk as she had been, with hardly a rational inter- nmission, for a week past. The cupboard was searched for candle, for food. The first was iot. Her dinner was there untouched and uncooked. She must have a fire. She borrowed a match of the sewing-woman in the attic, and a handful of shavings from the German family in the next room, and managedl by patient perseverance, to ig- nite the few coals she could scrape together. The half-, cooked food was eaten. It was better than starving, as Stell knew tiy experience. This work over, and the fire out, the unaccountable feel- ing of dread came back. The room was still and dark. There was noise in the street, noise, ini the alley, noise in the next room, noise on the stairway, noise overhead. (42) TIPSY ALLEY. 43 But in that room painful stillness. Not even the mothers breathing was audible. Stell listened for it; went to the closet-door and listened; went close to the bed and listened. "Mother, mother, Tiother," she called. No answer, no sound. She put her hand on the drunkard and shook hei; an icy cold hand fell on h1ers. Stell screamed and sprang back. To go up stairs, beg the sewing-woman's candle, and return, fol- lowed by the thin shadow who stitched her life into shilrts, drawers, and collars, in the attic, was the work of a minute. Stell held the candle over her mother's face; the shadow behind her uttered the word the child had not yet learned-" dead!" , Transfixed, her large gray eyes dilated,'tearless, fast- ened on the bloated, corrupting form, stood Stell. The shadowy seamstress flitted out of the room to the Ger- man nieill'hbors in the next room, to the Irishneighbors il the roons below; and instantly the tenants came pouling in, with exclamations and pantomilues; crowding each other, looking over shoulders-they came to see, and went awaiy, in a hurry to tell'what they had seen. And other neighbors from other houses, from next door, from the opposite side, from the extreme ends of the alley, came--men, women, and children. Some, especially the children, venturing no further than the door. Some' speaking words of kindness; some, what were meant for suchl ; some, unmeaning, useless ejaculations; and some, Ilard and bitter truths of the dead mother, thoughtless of the orphan child, into whose soul their coarse invectives entered like barbed arrows. Stel], abused, insulted Stcel, had ca heart of pride, an innate instinct of self-respect that recoiled even from pity, when that implied cause for contempt. 11t, *'L?, page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " "THE JULIA." They went as they came; talking, ejaculating, gesticu- lating. All went, save the faithful shadow from the attic. There was nothing to be done, save to straighten the limbs and wait for the husband, wholi nobody knew where to find, and a coroner, whom no one cared or offered to find. So all went as they came, and left only the child and the shadow with the dead. The shadow must sew, or die; she and her child die together. In her sepulchral whisper she invited Stell up stairs. Stell would not go, not even for a moment, while the shadow/got her work. So, with a whisper, that she would be back again directly, the shadow. vanished. Stell took Bertie's letter from her bosom. Not to read it, she had done that; it was short as precious, only these words, prlited--for Stlell could not read writinig: "To Estelle, from Egbert, ivith love;" She opened it now to take from it a five dollar note. She did so with a sigh; she must part with that money, so precious for Egbert's sake. And the letter was concealed before the shadow returned. The poor seamstress' heart was very kind. Pure be- nevolence, exerted at a painful cost, induced her to sit ill that still room, so near to that repulsive corpse. She w-as shivering with fear, aid starting at every noise with nervous tremulousness. Yet she tried to wear a calm face, and even to speak words of comfort, of courage to the orphan. Stell interrupted the husky voice in its first essay. "Those folks," so Stell spoke, "said something about begging things; things that's w-anted for her"-point- ing to the closet. "I don't want to beg for her. Please wont you get and fix them? Here's money." * - R TIPSy ALLEY. 45 The seamstress took the note and examined it, thought- fully. "Stell,' she asked suddenly, "where did you get this?" "That's none of your business," was the rude answer. The seamstress, vexed, laid the bill on the table, and wen t on with her work in silence. "Will you do what I asked?" inquired Stell, after a time. Not till you tell me how you got this," was the de- cided answer. "Then you'll never do it," was the angry response.- The thin face flushed at the child's obstinacy and im- pertinence, and then grew sorrowful. After a while she spoke. "You are queer, Stell. I do not believe you mean to offend me, the only one who has staid by you here, when you are all alone." "You need n't stay if you dont like to," interrupted Stell. "I did n't ask you. I aint afraid of nothing i and she's my mother, aint she?" "Do you wish me to go?' asked the seAmstress. "No." "Do you wish me to stay?" she asked again dissatis- fied with the indifferent tone of the answer. "Yes,' said Stell, in the same tone. '"If yon choose. "You 're company, if you are so dreadful thin." The woman sighed. "This is a hard world, Stell," she said. "And you've got to try it. And because bad manners wont help you along, I want you not to be rude and1 ugly." "If you aint, they'll abuse you," said Stell, doggedly. "Not every one. I would not," she added decidedly. "Do you think I would abuse you, poor child; now, in page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " "TH E JULIA..' your sorrow?" and she laid her bony hand on. the head of Stell, who sat on the floor at her feet, close by the only chair which the room contained. Stell felt the gen- tle pressure ofthat hand thrilling through her whole body. Never had hand laid its weight with love on that head before; no, not a mother's. 'The hand stayed there, and by degrees StellPs head rested on the seamstress' lap. No words were spoken; but each felt that she was near to the other's heart. "Stell," said the seamstress, at length, "if you do not like to tell me how you came by this money, I would rather you took it back. I will fix up something out of what I have left." A sigh involuntarily told how little that was. "We need not go a begging for things. And, Stell, if you have got that money in any wrong way, send it back where it belongs, and I will be your friend forever." Poor shadow! What an unsubstantial friend- ship, and what a brief forever, were youl offering!. "You shall live with mo"'-1-growing animated, and her voice acquiring strength as she spoke--" and I will teach you to sew; and we'll get along somehow-you, Carrie, and I!" It was magnanimous. An anatomy striving for the bare subsistence of herself and one child, offering to toil for another! Stell felt it. She looked up into the thin face.. She started as she looked at it. "Why!" she exclaimed. "You've grown beautiful. I always thought you the thinnest sort of an ugly old woman. I never knew how handsome you was." Stell was right. Two soft eyes of blue, long dimmed with tears and weakness, now were lighted with a little sparkle of the brilliance which long ago made them beauti- ful: a color on the pallid cheek gave it softness; and the TIPSY ALLEY. 47 thin, compressed, famished lips were parted now in a sweet- and eloquent smile. Love, goodness-is beauty. "Yes, Stell," and the shadow smiled sadly and amiably. "I was not always a ' thin, ugly, old'woman,' but a young and beautiful girl, Stell, more beautiful than you could ever be, for all your handsome hair. If you will promise never to repeat it-while I live that is-I will tell you my story. It may do you good. Would you like to hear it?" "Yes." ' Can you sew?" "No; but I'll learn. "I was going to ask you to help me with this; but it's no matter." Stell, however, insisted upon taking her first lesson in the use of the needle, and while she learned the myster- ies of the art, and took many a stitch for the seamstress to rip out and take over again, that shadowy woman told her story. It was one that is commnon in the world. A husband1 was at the bottom of it. He had spent hei' money, rfiined her happiness, and deserted her and her child. The poor woman concealed nothing---nothing that it imight do Stell good to know. Stell's heart warmed to the seamstress, and she in turn told all there was to tell of herself. She talked to the seamstress as she had never talked before to any but Egbert Hartsum, the only' one in the world whom she had loved. But now, this night, she added to her heart's treasures the love of this fading shadow. The five-dollar bill was accepted now without reluc- tance; and the seamstress was glad to learn that Stell had something, in her new trade of hair-dresser, besides the miserable resource of the needle, to depend upon for a living. , . *. . - . wI page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 "THE JULIA." Thus the hours wore away till the clock on the church- tower struck three. Then were heard the heavy foot- steps of Stell's father stumbling up the stairs. The seamstress looked dubious whether to go or stay; natural timidity saying '"Go," kind-hearted benevolence urging "Stay." "Go," said Stell, in her short, quick way. But the seamstress thought better, resis;ed her first impulse, shook her head, and quietly resuraed her work. The father came in. He was drunk, not stupidly, but fool- ishly drunk. With a silly attempt at politeness he wel- comed the unexpected visitor. Stell, whom her father's appearance had immediately transformed into her own rude self, interrupted his extraordinary courtesies by an abrupt announcement of the painful tidings which awaited the inebriate. "Father, mother's dead." "Hush! child. Don't tell folks your mother s drunk; you forget the lady." Stell's countenance betrayed no other emotion' than contempt which simulation in any shape always met from her. Rising from her seat on the floor, she took the can- dle in one hand and her father by the other, and led him to the closet. "There. See for yourself, father. Mother's dead." "Margery, Margery dear, wake up. I 'i come home, Margery. Come, wake up," and the tipsy man shook the senseless form of what had been his wife. "She's dead, I tell you, dead!" exclaimed Stell sharp- ly; and then, forcing herself between the father and the bed, looking him in the face and enunciating every sylla- ble with painful distinctness-poor child, she was an adept in dealing with drunkards- "Father," she said, "mother-is--dead." TIPSY ALLEY. 49 "Hey, child?" "Mother-is-dead. I found her lying here dead, when I came home this evening." He understood now. The comprehension sobered him in the instant, at least the startling, dreadful truth re- called and concentrated the faculties that rum had con- fised and bewildered. Stell was alarmed at the effect of her own words. The face, flushed but a moment be- fore, became so pale, the unsteady and Wandering eyes so fixed on the pallid corpse, and the large and bloated firname of the drunkard trembled in every joint. Stell glided out of the room and took her place again at the feet of the thin,'silent seamstress. Both listened. There was silence, in which they heard only their own beating hearts. Then came a low moaning cry. Then sobs. Then louder lamentations. Broken exclamations, in which the name "Margery " was often repeated. At last mre connected sentences, in which the drunkard laid upon himlself all the blame of the drunkard's wife. "It was all of me, Margery. You'd never touched it but for me, and it ought to have killed me first. Oh! Margery, dear Margery!" Hardly could the seamstress afford time for the tears forced from her eyes. She must earn bread. for the living to-night, if she would clothe the dead to-morrow. So she sewed on, faster and faster. And when the morn- ing came dimly in, through the dusty windows, it found her still sewing, rith the head of the motherless child on lier lap; and it found the widowed father asleep, where he half sat, half reclined, his shoulders resting against the jamb of the mantel-piece, and his head drooping on his bosonm. With the morning came the drunkard's friends, one 3 . page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 'TI E JULIA."' after another, as the news reached them, till some dozen cronies of the dead and of the living were gathered in that room. With them came rum, tobacco, pipes, smoke. The coroner turned them adrift for a little season. ' is work was short. The cause of death too plain to need a jury. "Death from habitual drunkenness." Stell long after read the record in ani old newspaper in the seam- stress' room, and passionately tore the paper into frag- ments. It was her mother's obituary. Stell was glad to escape from the clouds of tobacco- smoke and the tipsy oaths and tipsy laughter to the quiet attic-room up stairs. Here she took. care of little Carrie, the child of the seamstress, while the latter was pre- paring the dead for burial. Here at last the seamstress joined her. "Estelle," she said, (she had already . adopted that name at the child's requlest,) "Estelle, here is all that is left of the five dollars." She handed her a few small pieces of silver. "And there's the lot to be paid for, and the sexton's bill. I am afraid you will have to take the coroner's advice, land let the city pay the charges." Stell made no answer. With her usual alertness slie rose, put on bonnet and shawl, and left the room. Her destination, the hairdresser's. Her object, wages in ad- vance. Disappointment awaited her. The hairdresser had employed her with reluctance; her rudeness had of- fended him and all in the shop; he was glad o' an excuse to be rid of her. "So! you've come at last!" was his salutation! "Where have you been?" "Mother 's dead!' was the brief reply, " and I want some money. Will you please give me some? I'll work it out." TIPSY ALLEY. 51 The hairdresser's manner changed. Your mother's dead, is she?" Stell nodded. " hen did she die? - Don't know exactly; sometime yesterday afternoon. or evening." "Don't know?" "No." "' Wasn't you with her?" "No." "Where were you? No answer. "Didn't you know 'your mother was sick '?" No."' "'hat was the matter with her? *"(Will you give me some money?". was the surly an- swer to the last question. "What was the matter with your mother, I asked," rejoined the hairdresser. No reply. "Don't you klnow? "I want some money." "4 Was you with your mother yesterday afternoon?" "I told you no." ' "Was it because she was sick you didn't come here?" "Didin't know she was sick." "Then why didn't you come?" "Didn't want to." The hairdresser asked no more questions. He gave her the little money she had earned, and, from some pity for the wild orphan girl, a very little over, and dismissed her with the peremptory command never to show her face there again, for he didn't want her. page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 "'TIrE JULIA." ,Stell's pride forbade an answer, or one plea to be re- tained in service, strong as her desire was to be employed. She asked the world for work only, but asked so rudely the world' would not g'ive it. Stell's drunken father was drunk at ler 'mother's fune- ral and drunk for days afterwards. His home was de- serted, and the motherless daughter, without question or hinderance,; was adopted into the family of the sewilln shadow in the attic. That little attic room, with its scant furniture and dormer mwindodw, was a. p:aadise to Stell, for love and neatness shared the abode with poverty. As we read in Paul and Virginia that Margaret "offered Madame de la Tour her hut and her friendship," so the seamstress received Estelle into her garret and her love. [ k ' V. l; ET o, and hau l! j"Aye ye, sir!" Every inch of canvas was inflated. Wind, gentle and steady.; sky, flooded with sunlight; the sea, beating in its regular measures soft Sabbath tunes. It was the Julia's second Sunday on the ocean. ' A beautiful day, captain," remarked r. De Seiple, with a polite morning salutation. Yes," was the short answer. It is Sunday too," added the doctor. To this piece of information the captain vouchsafed no response. "We, your passengers, captain," continued the doce tor, "desire to hold religious services on deck, and invite the officers and crew to unite with us." "'Gainst my rules, sir," answered the captain curtly; '; 'twould interfere with regulations. Neer allow ser- vice on deck, sir.'" "'We will have service in the cabin, then, if you please, captain. It is rather small, but wYe can make room." "Cabin belongs to passengers. Do what they choose there, within bounds.'" (5,3) page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 "'THE JULIA." "Shall I invite the crew, captain; or will you attend to that?" "Crew can't come, sir.. They're on duty." "The. watch off. duty? urged the nmissionary. "They must rest," answered the captain, doggedly. "Captain," persisted the missionary,'with great cour- tesy, "' I shall not importune you to grant our wishes; but I would prefer a request which can interfere neither with duty, rest, nor discipline. It is, that we lmay, one or two at a time, as you please, visit the forecastle, to talk with such of the sailors as are willing to converse with us, and to lend them books to read." "All against rules, sir; contrary to habit; and, sir, to make matters short, it won't be allowed. Passengers have the cabin--amuse themselves as they please-- preaching, praying, singing, or any way; but must lea ve me, my officers and drew, alone. Understand, sir?" "You are very intelligible,', answered the missionary. "Permit me to thank you." There was irony in that "thank you!" Soon after a Sabbath hymn came floating out from the cabin, blending sweetly with the mnusic of wind andlwave. Captain Hartsulm heard it. The blithesome influences of the day had entered into his spirit and put him in har- mony with the holy song. He'listened at first uncon- sciously;. then attentively. One female voice carried the air, full, clear and soft, and sent the very words to his ear. The tune, "Loving kindness "-how often had he heard his mother's cracked voice attempting its difficult turns! The words, too how familiar to his earlier years! "Awake, my soul, in joyful lays, And sing thy great Redeemer's praise; He justly claims a, song from thee; His loving kindness, O! how free!" AT SEA. 5 The captain lingered a few minutes at the companiol way, listening; then walked to the bulwarks. H humm-ed the tune the missionaries sang, unconsciousB lHe was thinking, not of them, nor of their song, but o his old mother; then of his wife and children at homn then of Bertie, sick in the cabin; and then his thought and humming were interrupted by the second mate- "Capt'n, Jack's bad." "Worse, hey?" The mate nodded. "Can't weather it long on thi tack. Given him full rations' from the medicine Chisl too." "Bad as that, hey?" "Couldn't be worse, and live." "Go to the cabin, and ask Dr. De Seiple to see him. " Jist what I was a thinking of!"5 and the second mat descended the companion-way with alacrity, little sus pecting the reluctance with which the captain had des patched him on this mission. The devotional services were just concluded. Earnes prayers had ascended for some opening to do good amont that godless crew. And when the secondc mate salute( the doctor with a request to visit a sick man in the fore castle, it seemed like an immediatQ answerlto their sup plication. "Before they call, I will answer; and while they arm yet speaking, I will hear!"' ejaculated Walter Strong one of the missionaries. The doctor, taking with him such religious tracts a were at hand, followed the mate 'to the fo:recastle. Hi visit there was not that of a mere plysi cian; he dis pensed spiritual medicines. Cursing, debased, turbulen sailors-is there no balm in Gilead for them? page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 "THE JULIA." Ship-board and a long voyage may transmute friend- ship into hostility. To see the same fiaces and witness the same phases of character day after day is at best tire- some. But if the face be disagreeable, or the character offensive, its constant repetition of unpleasant impres- sions chafes the temper. Personal peculiarities, even if trivial and not fhulty, annoy, when they are constantly forced on the attention, especially when we have not the power to avoid them and feel that we must observe them, whether we would or not. The Duke of Wellington's nose, on a face that had nothing else to commend it, would, in such circumstances, vex a nervous nian as much as it would offend a fastidious taste. Who would not esteem it a severe punishment to be perpetually looking at the extraordinary caricatures of the grleat duke in the woodcuts of a London Illustrated News? The second week out, the. passengers on the Julia 'began to know each other, and, if the truth be spoken, soime of them at least to tire of each other. They would, indeed, have proved an ill-assortment among themselves but for one controlling principle that they possessed in common-their religion. Born and bred in differint cir- cumstances, their educated as well as natural tastes, pre- judices and opinions at variance, they were yet one in faith, love andclbaptism. With two exceptions they-were strangers to each other till they met on. ship-board. Messrs. Small and Jamzes had been class-mates in their theological training. Mr. Small, a large man with little comeliness of person, badly put together, like a big ship built after a fhultyt model, was from Ohio, the son of an illiterate farmer; and an imperfect education had only varnished the rudeness of his early training. Hle had married a country school- AT ,SEA. mistress, fully endorsed by clerical recommendatior A good woman she was; yet with all her goodness w mixed a full appreciation of her own merits, and of tl self-denial and high devotion which her submission to missionary career evinced. [Mr. James, a; small man, son of a shopkeeper in thrifty New England town, was dapper and clerk-like person and manners, polite to a fault, painfully aufait all points' of etiquette, timid, talkative, well-meanin kind, with moderate talents and slender education. the choice of a wife he ,had manfully put upon his ve narrvow shoulders the heaviest burden a missionary can be -a wife weak in body and in mind.. Mrs.. James was good, little, foolish, sickly thing, doting on -her husban and longing to be useful: as unequal to the work she w undertaking as a glow-w6rm to light a palace, or a waf ing candle to illuminate the night. Christian De Seiple, Rev. and M. D., we :lready knon he was a gentleman, a scholar, and a Christian. But I wife, Deborah De Seiple, with her. round face, ro cheeks, hazel eyes, flexible mouth, with her rapid thoug and ready tact, her ofit-spokenness and originality in t] use of language-Deborah De Seiple was ;' a fascinati woman!" Was she handsome-that "humpy-dumpy sho1t, fat, thick-set woman, could she be handsom( Talk with her, look down on her slightly upturned fa( displaying the perfect contour of chin and throat, lo1 directly into her large eyes, animated with the play thought and feeling, and you are convinced at one a' the same time that she is beautiful exceedingly, and good as beautiful. Among these missionary passengers on board the Jul there were certainly many differences, incongruities, ai 3B* page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 ' s-' T H JULIA." individual deiects and absurdities. Yet all were in unity of spirit. The character of each rested on the same re- ligious basis. All loved the Lord Jesus in sincerity, and desired, with different degrees of clearness of apprehen- sion, to communicate to their fellow-creatures the know- ledge of the glorious Gospel of the grace of our God. Nevertheless, we conceive it possible that these good, christian men and women might together have made that long voyage to India without a full and decided manifesta- tion of their religious character, without perfectly under- standing or activelybenefiting each other; they could have observed morning and evening and Sabbath-dtay worship, and maintained all the proprieties of a religious life, with- out uniting their hearts and efforts in a spirit of fervent devotion or in any special work of love and grace. The spiritual atmosphere, the quickened toiie of religious feeling which pervaded the cabin of the Julia, was due to the controlling influence of one man. Walter Strong wa aln instance, rare even in the minis- try of the church, of one wlio lived " s a pilgrimn and a stranger on the earth," oneu 'whom we may not hesitate to call, in the fullest significance of the epithet, a holy man. Such an one, in his heavenly-minded aspirations, as we conceive David Brainerd to have been, and in his elevated, unworldly and self-abnegated view\s of life as we know Henry Martyn was. Walter Strong was the son of a village pastor in one of the Middle States. To society (par excellence, po- lished, elegant society) he was a stranger. The lack of artificial refinements was better supplied by the simplicity and quietness which gave an unstudied dignity to his manners. His person, tall, thin, undeveloped, and des- tined to become fine and commanding, was now ungainly AT SEA. - and awkward. His face, a superficial critic would haN pronounced sadly common-place and decidedly homel2 Sandy hair, greenish gray eyes, large nose, freckled cor plexion, and lips thick and projecting, (giving to the fa( whllen in repose a sour and unamiable expression,) wei not certainly the features of a handsome countenanc Yet, against the world, we would maintain that his w: a handsome face. Its beauty consisted in its perfei purity, in the entire absence of every line of passion, the intellectual amplitude of the brow, and in the qui( kindling of the eye and the eloquent play of the mouth conversation, especially in the sweet gentle smile th broke upon. his countenance whenever his lips parted ar he begun to speak, a smile that was often the precurs( of the cheeriest and most musical laugll the ear ev heard. Add to what has been said, a vigorous healthy mli disciplined by severe study and enriehed with accurat not varied, learning, and the portrait of Wgalter Stror is as complete as we can nmake it. His was the rulir spirit in the cabin of the Julia. He drew out the hear of his brethren, gave a christian character to their soci interourlse, and united their souls in the purpose to c good to each other at least, to the wicked. crew also, they could. They wished to do good as they had oppo tunity, then and there, (without waiting till. they arrive at India,) confined though they Were amid ocean solitudi within the narrow barriers of the brig. The influence of Mr. Strong over his companions w: not felt at once but grew up by degrees.. First we:i days of sickness. Then came an interv l, during whic personal peculiarities were most intensely exhibited.. Ui colgenialities became apparent. Porcupine quills we] page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] '60 "TIIn JULIA." erected. Dissatisfaction with each other was the result. Cramped and c'rowded in the cabin, not yet accustomed to the inconveniences of ship-board; still suffering more or less with sea-sickness, they could not be very amialle. Moreover, the captain's ill humor was infectious and dis- posed them to cherish an unaccommodating and even in- subordinate spirit. Could an eaves-dropper have published to the world the confidential talks of the missionaries on board tile Julia, during the second week of her outward bound voyage, much available material would have been fiur- nished to the satirical novelist for his flings at christian missions, and many good people, praying and loving friends of missions and missionaries, would have been sadly Scandalized and confounded. "Do you not thinlk MArs. De Seiple rather a worldly- minded woman for a missionary's wife?" asked Mrs. James timidly of Mrs. Small. "I think she takes airs upon herself and has very ex- travagant notions, was the brusque r answler. She will never live on the s:alary. She and I will never agree in matters of economical management, that I know.), "Brother Strong is so serious," remarked Mr. James to Mr. Small, "I believe he thinks it a sin to laugh anld talk." "I fear he is inclined to be righteous over much, was the rejoinder. The words were hardly spolen when a burst of merry laughter came fromL the captain's state-room, and the two missionaries were astonished by the egress therefrom of the " serious"Mr. Strong, who, while they were condol- ing over his seriousness, had been amusing with childlike talk and mirthfulness the little invalid Bertie Hlartsum. AT SEA. 61 "Christian," asked Mrs. De Seiple as she walked the decklwith her husband, ' must we always be intimate with them? Shall wTe be obliged to live in the samLe bungalow, Oor even in the same compound with them? Can we not go off somewhere and be alone by ourselves? I cannot stand it long. I cannot. They have their good qualities; I respect tlem; but I could not live with them. We have such different views, habits, feelings, prejudices. $S We wouldnever understand each other : never! always be interfering, always!t "How you talk, Deborah," her husband. answered. " If these christian n men a1d women are so insufferable how will you endure the society of Hindoos?" "It is the intimacy, I fear, Christian! the intimacy The having to live together, dependent on each other, identified in our cause, expected to sympathize and co- operate. This is a possible trial of missionary life. I never anticipated this necessity of constant association with persons who, saving strictly religious matters, have not two opinions in common with yourself. This is a trial for us women, Christian. The men I could get along with. i ri. Strong I already like. Mr. Small, with all his coarse- ness and ill manners, is, I am sure, true-hearted. 'And poor Mr. James, with his small talk, and very absurd po- 1 liteness, and very weak anecdotes, is as kind-hearted a little' man as ever was. But, Christian, those wives of theirs! One of them is downright vulgar. Yes, she is, and ybu know it. With her gold chains, and. worked col- lars and affectation even here on ship-board. And she's penurious too, mean. She and I will never agree where money is concerned, never, never, never! Christians or no Christians! And the other is too silly a little puss to move any other feeling than pity! I would cheerfully do * , page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 TlifE JULIA t.' anything for her, except to live in the same house with her.. That I cannot do!" "Dear wife, you are taking trouble on interest., We mnay be separate(d from these good friends by hundreds of miles. And, likely endugh, when you know them better you will love them more." "Love!" repeated his wife, with energy, "that is not the word. It is not whether I can love them, but whether I can live with them? ' "Could you not live with any you loved?" "No!" emphatically, " not on all terms of intimacy. One may have qualities that commanad love, and other qualities that would render them very uncongenial mnem- bers of one's own filamily. There are social affinities wholly independent of in{dividual respect and affection. I loved all the dear people in our 'old church at llome, but there are not a dozen of them I would like to lhive W ith." "Well, well, we must make the best of it. This may be the cross our Lord puts upon us. Wt must not choose our own crosses." "True," answered his wife meekly. But a moment after resuming her former manner, she asked ilmperatively, "after all, Christian, do you think these persons fit fob the work they havre undertaklen?" "Here is Mr. Strong," he answered, " we-will ask him." Mr. Strong, joined them in their promenade, and Mr. De Seiple addressed him. "We have beeln discussing, too freely perhaps, the characters of our fellow-missionaries. We have dclecided that one is coarse, and both (the men I mean) of slender abilities and acquirements ; that the wife of one is vulgarr, and the other silly; and now comes-the question, 'Are they fit fbr their work? '" AT SEA. 63 "By similar instruments," answered Mr. Strong, "God has ever executed his purpose. By such the, Christian church Iwas founded and has been perpetuated. The pro- phets; the apostles, the glorious company of martyrs and confessors, all were mlen of human infirmities, social inap- titudes, personal defects, singular peculiarities; men of like passions with ourselves, some better and greater than others, but all poor vessels of clay. By such God pleased to work. And if we wait for perfect men and women to evangelize the world, we shall wait in vain. But, my dear friends," continued Mr'. Strong, " we may discover in these missionary companions of ours the admirable workmanship of God. Would it not be, well to divert our attention from their social and personal peculiarities by eliciting their christian sentiments. Let us in our con- versation with themn speak more of those sacred things in which we can agree, and leave out of view those worldly matters in which we may hlave Ifew sentiments in common. Thus we shall learn to love as brethren; and christian love can tolerate much that is in itself disagreeable. Suppose we begin to-morrow morning an informal Bible class. An hour or two daily spent in the study of the Scriptures will .be profitable, will suggest themes for conversation, and will bring out those points in whi(h we are all heartily united and sympathizing."5 The suggestion was acted upon. A more propitious feeling ensued. Peculiarities were merged in one prevail- ing characteristic of Christian activity. And the Julia sailed on with pleasant breezes and through favoring seas; the captain and mates swearing on the deck, the sailors singing bacchanals and spinning unreliable yarns in the forecastle, and the missionaries praying and psalm- singing in the cabin. page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] VI. TELL sewed. Stell tended and amused little. Carrie. Stell swept, sclrubbed and dusted. Stell cooked what was to be cooked, and saved her kind friend many steps. Stell was a great help. But the needle earned scant wages. 'The seamlstress coughed more and spoke more hoarsely, took to fainting away at times, and, at last, took to her bed for good. Starvation impended. Stell's needle could not accomplish what the other's lhad, even if, like that-other, she sewed her life away. Iier pride was conquered. She returned to the hairdresser's and implored employment. He could not, or would not give it. He was about to order her with harsh words from his shop, when his intention was diverted by the 0n- trance of a lady. "Could you dress my hair this evening at six o'clock precisely?, "Not possibly, madam." "I'll do it," cried Stell. Please let me." There was no ordinary eagerness in the voice. The lady turned towards her with a look not more wondering than startled. She'was very handsome, that lady-oa queenly beauty. Stell felt it, though she did not then think of it. She was too intent on her own purpose. (64) 'WHAT HAPPENED ASHOR:E. 65 "I want. to do it so much!" she said. 4 Can she?"9 asked the lady. She can," the man answered. "But she is very rude; she imay give yon trouble.7' I'll try her. I like her. My dressing-maid has left me suddenly, and I must have somle one. Are you sure you can do it??" sile asked of Stell herself. " My hair is a very full suit, and I wish it dressed," and she described the exact method. "Can you do it that wray?" "Ask him," was Stell's reply, motioning towards the hairdresser; but with a manner that said "No one could do it better.' The bargain was closed. The lady gave Stell her card: "Leonore Foriester, Hotel le Grand," and drove off in her carriage. Stell, in the prospect of earning even this trifle, returned to the attic and the vanishing shadow with a happy heart. Full two hours before the time Stell begpn the work of preparation, by practising on her own hair the particu- lar style which the lady had designated. She took it down and put it up, again a dozen times, till she was sure she was. perfect. Then she started for her destination, w'ith the card of direction in her hand. Arrived at the hotel, there was still half-an-hour to spare. Stell spent it before the theatre on the opposite side of the street, spelling out the play-bills. Each displayed in the centre, in letters ten inches high, the name of NoRA, the great English actress, who for fifteen years had maintained an unrivalled popularity at home and abroad. Stell had im- bibed a passion for histrionic art. That great and fash- ionable theatre was to her an object of fascination. To gain access there would have been an event in her esti- mation, not less than an introduction at court to the page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " "Tin JULIA." imagination of a boarding-school girl. Nora was to play that night. Nora! what would not Stell have given to see her! Early as the hour was, there were bustle and activity within the porch, the ticket offices thronged with applicants, and a constant succession of men going in and comning out. Stell, forgetting for the moment that she now wore the dress of respectability, and acting rather in accordance with her former character of dance-girl in pink boddice and short petticoats, was mounting the steps for the purpose of catching a glimpse into the arcana of this Temple of the Muses, when she became conscious that she herself was an object of observation. A group of young men in the portico were making their comments on her personal appearance. As she ap- proached them, one spoke so loudly that she heard his remalr. An impudent retort rose to her lips; but she had learned hard lessons lately, and, remembering that employment depended on deportment, if not on charac- ter, she turned her back and in an. instant had crossed the street and was lost to siglt among the crowd. The clock struck six. She entered lthe hotel, naturally enough by the principal entrance, and found herself surrounded with gentlemen; amid a hubbub of noises, the trampling of a hundred feet upon the marble floor, the murmuring of as many voices, the ringing of bells, and the calling of servants. Another would have been lembarrassed; not Stell. She approached a young man smoking a segar, and, showing the card, asked to be directed to the lady thus designated. The dandy laughed in her face. Her second application was to an elderly man. With more decorum, but hardly more true politeness, he. silently pointed her to the clerk behind his desk at the office. She approached, handed her card, and repeated her re- WHAT HAPPENED AsnIOBE. 6i quest. The clerk, giving no answer by word or look, pulled a bell, and resumned his work of answering ques- tions and issuing orders, with an incessant attempt at writing between incessant interruptions. Stell, pushed this way and that, as one after another camne up to the desk, each hurried and imperative about his own particu- lar item of business or pleasure, thought herself forgot- ten. Many times she- repeated her request. Each time the clerk merely answered " directly." But as he neither looked at her, nor moved his head from the position in which it happened to be, she was in doubt whether the "directly" was flung at her, or at some one ,else. After a good many " directhes" another of the multitudinous waiters with white aprons, that were constantly saluting the clerk at the, desk with the cry here, Sir," and being dispatched on some special errand, made his appearance, and enunciated his "here, sir." "Show this young woman to No. 60." "Yes, sir."1 Immediately Stell was following the man through long h alls and up long stairs. The apartment into which she was ushered was mag- nificent beyond anything sie had ever seen. One bewil- dered look, that took in Mthing definitely, sufficed for tlhe room and furniture; and thenrher eyes were rivetted on the superb woman who stood in the midst of this dis- )lay. She stood facing the door, in the attitude of one whose steps had been suddenly arrested. She returned Stell's look of admiration with a smile; then, bidding her be seated, resumed her walk to and fro across the room, talling to herself, as Stell first thought. But was she talking? No. She was rehearsing a part. She was an actress. Stell was sure of it, and her heart leaped for page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] "TIIE JULIA."' joy. The actress became animated. She stood still be- fore the young girl. Not her voice alone, but every feature, every movement thrilled with eloquence. Stell had seen poor acting, and been entranced by it. But this-though she comprehended not the sense, in the mere fragments that were- recited--made her hold her very breath, to catch the music of her voice, to feel the force of the varying power of expression. The actress became almost as much interested in watching the changing, countenance of the child, as the latter was in gazing on he:-rs; and at last evinced her enjoyment of the girl's admiration, by giving vent to a merry burst of laughter. "Aint you Nora ? "asked Stell, abruptly. "Yes," she answered. Stell was in a transport of delight. " Come," she added, suddenly, " dress my hair, and do it quickly. I must be at the theatre in"'-looking at her watch1-" twenty minutes. I had no idea it was so late. I meant to have given, you a full hour. ,Come." And she led the way through a bed-room into a small dress- ing-room. "I am afraid," said the actress, seating her- self before a large mirror, and herself removing the fastening from the hair, "you can never do it."- "I can do it," said Stell, decisively.. And she did it, in such short time, too, and with such singular dexterity, as astomjshed the actress. It was an immense mass of raven black hair, that had embarrassed many an expert hair dresser. But the girl never hesitated for a moment. "Can you help me with my dress ?" asked the actress. "I'll try." She was not so handy in this department of the toilette. Her experience in it had been confined to, the meagre requirements of the dressing-rooln of the miserable thea- tre in which she had danced. The twenty minutes were barely ended. The actress, about to leave the room, asked hurriedly, "How much shall I pay you ?" "What you please. But-- " ' But what ?" "May n't I go to the theatre with you ?" " Yes, indeed you may, if you will wait upon me there. Nothing would suit me better. My maid always accom- panied me, and I have dreaded this night, the first of her absence. Come, quick." Quick it was. ,With a single bound Stell recovered her hat and shawl from the next room and was back again. "You are very light on your feet, very graceful in fact in all your movements," remarked the actress, as they left the room together. "I'm a dancer." "Oh!" " Do they have dancing at the big theatre,. where you play?" ' Sometimes." "Could you get me a place to dance there ? " "Perhaps so." Stell was in fortune to-night. IHer heart was dancing, if never her feet did again. But all thoughts of herself were. forgotten when once in the theatre. The very bright spots in the past life of the poor neglected girl were to be located at the low theatre where she had figured as a ballet-dancer. Vulgar, illiterate, and depraved as were her companions there, they were refined, elegant, and accomplished when measured by the standard of Tipsy page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 'THE JULIA.," Alley, or of those with whom she was on terms of inti- macy when she danced in the streets for the organ- grinder. The theatre was her beau-monde. But this grand theatre, so vast, so brilliant; these gorgeous actors and actresses in magnificent costumes, real jewels, real lace, no tinsel, no tawdry finery; and the acting-l-above all, Nora's acting! Stell had genius, and it was all on fire to-night. She was transported out of herself-out of the theatre--to dream-land-to another world.! And Nora was not a mere actress; in her the tragic queen was a reality. Nora had placed Stell just within the scenes, where she could command a view of the stage, without being herself seen, and also be 'ready to rpnder any service, if her assistance were needed by the actress. And there, fixed as a statue, or rather as a disembodied spirit, ail soul, the child stood--every thought and feeling enlisted in the play-till the last act was finished, and the curtain dropped. "Come to-morrow morning and dress my hair, at ten o'clock," said the actress, as she gave Stell a dollar, and turned to her' escort, who waited to hand her into the carriage. Stell stood watching the carriage as it drove off, then bounded away herself into the darkness, to ex- change the bright fiction of sorrow in the theatre for the dark reality of wretchedness in Tipsy Alley. VII. THAT same night the seamstress was dying. Stell did not know it, though she saw that the invalid waxed worse, and left not her bedside till the clock struck twelve, and then only at the sick woman's earnest solicitation. Stell took Carrie into her own poor cot, that the mother might not be disturbed. Stell slept soundly from sher exhaustion; she, knew not that the angels were filling the attic room with glory that night. She woke in the morning to find that the child, sleeping so tranquilly beside her, )was an orphan; but it was her- self that mourned as an orphan, and shed then the tears her own mother's death had not extorted. Stell was again alone-all alone in the world. The seamstress, in anticipation of the event which had happened, had given Stell certain directions, in accord- ance with which she immediately carried information of the event to a clergyman in the neighborhood. Kind womlen were soon there preparing the dead for burial, and speaking such words of Gocl as Stell had never heard from any save Bertie Hartsum and the thin seamstress. The minister himself came, and took Carrie away. This Stell resisted. But when assured by the minister that he acted in accordance with the dead mother's wishes, that (71) page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 '"THE JULIA." Carrie should be well cared for, and that she might come and see her as often as she pleased, Stell yielded. Mindful how one death had lost her employment, Ste!l, though longing to stay by that cold body, so beautifil now in its statue-like repose, was punctual to her engage- ment Witlth te actress. At ten o'clock she stood behind the chair of Leonore Forrestei, combing her hair. Swollen eyes and a dejected countenance invited inquiry, and the actress had the address to get out of Stell more of her sorrowful story than she would have told to another. "So your mother's dead, and this woman, who acted like a mother to you, is dead, too!" said the actress, with emotion. "You seem to have loved her more than your mother?" she added, inquiringly. "I never loved but two persons--yes, three, counting Carrie," said Stell, bluntly; "and mother wasn't one of them." "Was she not kind to you?" "Yes; believe so. She wasn't often cross any way." "But your father; where is lie? Who takes care of him since your mother died?" "Don't know." - Stell cautiously guarded the facts that her father was a drunkard, and that hei mother died of drunkenness. "Don't know!" repeated the actress, incredulously. -Haven't seen him since the funeral. lHe came home twice afterwards, they said, but, only to sleep; and after that the landlord rented the rooms." "Then you have no home now, poor child! What will you do?" "Don't know."? This last " don't know" sounded very much like MORE HAPrPENS. 13 "don't care." But in fact the actress suggested a thought that had not occurred before. She had no home, no friend, nowhere to go. The sense of her utter deso- lation came too suddenly. She grew faint. The actress, seeing her pale countenance reflected in the glass, bade her sit down, and herself brought from the next room a glass of wine. It revived her; and the actress could hardly repress a. smile at the evident satisfaction with which the wine was quaffed. But Stell became suddenly alarmed. "It's not whiskey, is it?" "No." c' Nor rum? nor brandy? nor gin?" ' N o. ' . "'I?m glad of that. I was afraid it was."' What if it had been?" "I'd rather die than take liquor," was the answer, given with energy. The actress had the sagacity to infer, what she had already suspected, that rum was at the bottom of the girl's troubles, and, with considerate delicacy, changed the subject. "What is your name?" she asked. Estelle Saltore." "-I twill call you 'Stella.'" i I want to be called ' Estelle,' and nothing else,"' was the sharp answer, with more of her 'habitual rudeness than she had shown before in the overawing presence of the great actress. "Well, Estelle, then," said the actress, with some vehemence. "Estelle, can you sew?" she asked, after a few minutes' silence. , page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 " 'ITHE JULIA." "Some," was the answer. "How old are you?" "Fourteen." "I thought you were sixteen or seventeen, at least. I was, thinking of having you for my dressing-maid; but I cannot be bothered with a child." This was rather said to herself than to Estelle; but the face of the latter brightened up at once. The mere hope of this-of more than ever she could have expected for herself-brougiht sunshine into her hface. "Oh, do! please, please do !" shle said, eagerly. "I feel a singular interest in you,, child. It seenms like madness. I never saw you till yesterday, and heard no very good character of you then; yet, I am strongly in- clined to try you. I aim not used to fancies either, and mine is no tender heart. Mind, though," she said, speaking now directly to the girl, " if I take you, it is only on trial; and if you are rude, dishonest, idle, or untidy, I shall dismiss you immediately." "Yes, ma'am,", said Stell, with a tone and manner that implied no felar of being sent off. " I'm rude. Every body says so. But, please, teach me hlow to behave. I'm quick at learning. Learned to sew drawers in one night." "Did you not speak to me last night," asked the actress, "about an engagement at the theatre as a ballet girl ?" "Yes," said Stell, her countenance falling at the bare suggestion of a change of purpose. "Very well. I will keep.that in mind. For the pre- sent you may come and be my maid. Let us see; you can come to-morrow morning at ten o'clock ? Very well. Come, then, and bring your clothes with you." AMORE HA-PPENS. 7 Stell smiled at the last injunction. Her clothes were a light burdeln. The little attic room, when Stell returned to it, was still and deserted. The kind women had finished their work, and gone. The coffined dead occupied one corner; the window was lup, the fire out. Estelle triecl the coffin lid It was loose; she removed it. She gazed long on the face she had loved. Some- thing of the fullness of youth had returnled to the cleeks; the features were exquisitely chiselled. The light hair had been brushed back under a ,heavy cap. Estelle combed it out, and dressed it in the way she had daily done during the last few w1eeks. Then she kissed tle cold lips, wiped off her own teard-rops fi'onm the marble brow, and replaced the coffin lid. ~ Estelle knew lnow what death was. She gazed upon it, in that loved form, writhout terror or repulllsion . The kind seamstress had prepared hler for it. Stell bethought lherself of all the seamstress had re. quested to have done when she should be dead. First of all she serecl a celrtain packaage, which was ;to be placed inll the hands of Mr. Foster, the lel'gyman, whl:lose services had already been called f olr, to be kept by him foli the daughter . Next, she examined the wearlng apparel. This shre w vas to appropriate to herself.: She found her- self icelly Irovided for, as she then thought she extem- poized a trlunk out of a square paper box, bl't it would hardly hold all her inheritance of clothes. Estelle sorted the contents of the corner closet into three piles; one for Carrie, one for heliself, one for old rags. Then she drew forth fi'om under her cot a bundle which contained the rejmains of her motllher', wardrobe collected by some kind friend, for Stell's sake, when the page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 "L'THE JULIA." rooms on the second floor were rented. She had never even examined its contents, and treated them now with little respect. They deserved none. One article after another was consigned to pile No. 3, to be devoted to destruction, till nothing remained save a tattered em- broidered handkerchief, a letter, and a few scraps of paper. Stell preserved the handkerchief because she had been accustomed, from early childhood, to regard it with admiration; and she saved the letter and papers from that superstitious reverence which persons who cannot write are apt to feel for every scrap of writing. Hiaving deposited her own pile in the paper box, slhe made as neat a bundle as she could of "Carrie's things," and sought again the house of the minister. Mr. Foster was at home. He received the package, and promised that the dead mother's wishes should be complied with. "Take the child's clothes to Mrs. Foster," he said, and pointed to a back ioom. "Where is Carrie, sir? Can I see her?" "Yes; she is there, too, w-ith Mrs. Foster." The little child uttered a cry of joy, when Estelle en- tered. "E stie! Estie! Estie!" and a dozen new toys were thrown away, while she cried and laughed on "Estie's" lap. The joy of the larger child was hardly. less ecstatic-it was such happiness to be loved! The dinner-table was set, and the viands about to be placed upon it. Estelle felt that she ought to go; but Carrie cried at the first attempt to leave her. Estelle clung lovingly to Carrie, and could not help looking longingly at the savory food which was now smoillng on the table; she had not tasted a morsel that day; nothing had passed her lips but the glass of wine Leonore For- MORE HAPPENS. 7 rester gave her.; Did the good lady who sat there quietly sewing, see and divine her hungry, ravenous glance at the table? or, was the request wholly ingenuous when she asked Estelle if she could not stay and take care of the child for a few hours, Carrie was so good with her anld hardly had stopped crying before she came? "Oh yes," was the eager answer; "and ][ can stay all night, too, if you'll let me. She'll sleep so good with me." The offer was as eagerly accepted as made. Mrs. Foster was only too glad to be relieved of thc care of a home-sick child. "Perhaps," she said, "you could stay with us a few days, till Carrie gets used to us?" "No," answered Estelle, and she could not help for the moment regretting her new engagement; " ][m going to be lady's-maid. I begin to-morrow." Mrs. Foster's look of surprise said, if Estelle could have interpreted it, thht for her to be lady's-maid was a droll idea; but she said nothing. "Is Carrie to live with you for good?" asked Estelle. "I do not know yet," was the answer. "We have no children. Mr. Foster desires to adopt her; she is a dear, pretty child, but I have not made up my mind. If any one offers to take her-that is, any one fit for it---they may." But no one did offer, fit, or unfit; and so Carrie learned to call Mr. and Mrs. Foster, " father and mother." Estelle had never sat at a well-ordered table. Her quick tact might, in ordinary circumstances, have covered her awkwardness; but, to-day, her starving appetite be- trayed her into the transgression of rules of strict pro- priety mbre than once. . page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 8 ' "THE JULIA." "There! there!" exclaimed the minister, who had borne what seemed to him inexcusable voracity as long as he could; "not quite so fast, child; there is plenty of time and plenty of food!" Mrs. Foster's deprecating look was too late. Estelle colored to the roots of her hair. The minister was sorry. "No matter, child; you are hungry; eat any way you choose." But her appetite was gone. The sensitive natu'e that dwelt under her uncouthness, was wounded; and wounded, too, by one so kind and gentle, that her usual weapon of rude retort could not be used against him. "By-the-by," said the minister, "the child's mother spoke to me, not long since, of a little girl that lived with her. Are you she?" Estelle nodded she had not recovered voice enough to answer, if she had had the politeness. "Wife," continued the minister, addressing Mrs. Fos- ter, "we must make room for two orphans, instead of one; at least till we can find a place for this girl. She is old enough to work." "She says she is engaged as lad's-maid, and is to enter on her situation to-morrow," replied the quiet Mrs. Foster. "Oh! very well; then she is off our hands. My child," he added, as he was about leaving the room, "whenever you want a friend, come to me. But what is your name?" he asked, turning back a second time. "Estelle Saltore, sir." "Estie, Estie, Estie," vociferated Carrie, now as happy as she had been cross. The loving manner of the child won the confidence of the minister to the larger girl. "Estelle," he said, "come - ' MO?E HA :PPEN. 9 to see us when you can, and regard all in this house as your friends." He laid his hand on her head, stooped over and kissed her forehead. Estelle was amazed. She would not have been more so had the ceiling ,fallen down. That was the first man who had ever kissed her! She was growing rich in friends, and her nature, indurated by the world's harsh treatment, was rapidly softening. Soon after dinner, Mrs. Foster went out. Estelle amused herself and Carrie, who held fast by her hand, by going round and round the room, examining every article, even the commonest of which was curious and wonderful in lier eyes, Again and again she admired the flowers in a vase on a side-table. She loved flowers. She liked to dress hair with flowers. These were faded: but she coveted them, coveted them to lay on the coffin of the dead. Having examined and reexamined all that the small dining-room contained, she ventured into other larts of the house ; and found herself at last in the kitchen and on sociable terms with the cook. Stell had already undergone no little change, when she could on such short acquaintance be polito and friendly with a stranger, and that stranger one in a servile position. But this was a marked day in her history. The seamstress' lessons had not been without benefit; and the death of h1er benefac- tress, and the kindness towards herself which that event ' had called forth, had within a few hours done much to soften and refine her wild and insubordinate spirit. She plied the cook with questions. "What's this?" What do you do with this?" 1-Her questions were answered with a good-natured smile at the ignorance they evinced. Estelle was gathering useful information; and had the quickness of parts that could make useful all the informa- tion she received. page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 "THE JULIA.) Mrs. Foster returned at dusk. She lheld in her hand a large bouquet of fresh flowers; and, lifting the window, had in an instant thrown the faded contents of the vase into the yard. In another instant, Estelle was at the side of the house, gathering up the discarded flowers with the tenderest care. "What in the world do you want of those!" exclaimed Mrs. Foster, when she returned with her treasures. "Please, may I[ keep them l?" was the only answer. "Certainly,'" was the response. Estelle danced out of the room and into the kitchen and came back with the flowers in a tumbler of water. "What do you mean to do with them?" asked Mrs. Foster, wondering at the girl's delight. "I want them for Carrie's mother,l' answered Estelle. "Oh! how nice!" said Carrie, little appreciating the sadness of their decorative use. "Oh!" said Mrs. Foster, in a subdued tone, ' you may have these." "All of them?" asked Estelle, with delight. "Yes; and you should have had more arid handsomer ones, if I had known you cared for them." Why is it that kindness, great kindness, makes us weep. Estelle had let only a few silent tears fall on the face of her best and only available friend that morning, when she found her cold and helpless in death. But now, to her own surprise, no less than to good Mrs. Foster's, she burist into a very agony of convulsed sobbing and weeping. "Poor child! poor child! ' was all that Mrs. Foster could say, in her ignorance of the nature, or real cause of this violent emotion. But she leaned over the child and kissed her, which did her more good than all the words she could have spoken. MORE HAPPENS. 81 The next morning, Estelle witnessed for the first time in her life, a family bowing in prayer. She knelt with them. She knew not why, save that the 'spirit of ilnita- tion was strong uponi her. The 'very few words of in- struction Bertie and the seamstress had given her, was all she had learned of God and man's relation to God, all that could enable her to comprehend the present and very simple act of devotion. She will never forget-that season of family worship. Choosing her time of departure, when Carrie was in- terested in her toys, Estelle slipped away. She was to pay her last visit to the attic. All was as she had left it; all still, solemn, peaceful: the dead unchlanged, unless another shade of beauty had fallen on the tranquil coun- tenance. Lovingly Estelle gazed upon it, and lovino]y she placed her flowers in the hand, upon the bosom and against the cheek, lending to its paleness a tint of color. Few in costly cerements have such adornment, and by such loving hands as the poor, dead seamstress in her cotton shroud and cherry coffin received from the tasteful and, grateful child she had befriended. IEstelle moved slowly around the room, putting everything more exactly in its place and stuffing, the old rags out of sight into the chimney. She came back to the dead and gazed lono upon the still face. Then, as the clock struck ten, she pushed the coffin lid to its place, caught up her paper box and ran down stairs. She hardly slackened her pace when she reached the street. She had taken her last look; she knew it, but did not trust herself to think of it. She was hurrying away from her own breaking heart. She was glad when she reached the hotel; and, be it said to the credit of the actress, Leonore Forrester received the poor vagrant child with womanly kindness and ten- derness. 4* page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 -TIIE JULIA. The two motherless children; Estelle and Carrie had found homes.: but with what a difference! One had be- come a dressing-maid to an actress, with the possible career of a danseuse before her. The other had been received into a christian household to be nurtured and trained within the pale of that communion that carefully shuts in the lambs of the flock from the pomps and vani- ties and gayeties of worldly amusements. Here their paths in life diverge. Can paths that lead in such. opposite directions terminate in the same goal at last? VIII. M RS. HANNAH HARTSUM sat in' her basement room, writing. Mrs. Hartsum was not in her ele- ment; the ironing-table would have been more conge- nial. The hottest, heaviest smoothing;-iron would have been more gracefully wielded than the span new steel pen that constantly required the manipulation of the left hand to adjust it in the right; 'nor would slhe once have burned the fingers, now picked out, as an artist would say, with ink-spots. Mrs. Hartsum had come to a full stop. Not that the sheet was full. An hour's hard work had not resulted in more than half a page of manuscript. For the tenth time. she read over what was written, hoping for some suggestion. "Dear John. We got word by ship Despatch, spoken by the Julia. We are so glad Bertie's better. We are well, except granny. Granny has been sick ever since you went. Kiss Bertie, John. The girlsl send love. Sally wants to be remembered. Fanny stays home from school ,sometimes to take care of granny. Cleopatra stayed to-day. Cle' is a better nurse; she likes it, she says." (8s) page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 . T "TI JUT'LIA." I The reading of the letter for the tenth time proved a tenth failure in the way of suggestion. Mrs. Hlartsull looked out of the window in despair. A ]beggar. girl passed: that wNas su;gestive.. "Sally," she s9creamied to the maid of all work, who was in the 'adjoiningu kitchen, "Sally, what's become of that dance-girl used to come and see Bertie?" c"Mean Stell??" was sjcreamed back. "Yes." "Don' know. Haven't seen, nor heard of her for an age of Sundays." "'Bertie'd like to hear of her, I lumow," said Mrs. Hartsum to herself; "and I meant to do something for the saucy jade, fbor Bertie's sake, and here I've3 been and' forgot. all about her." "Sally," she screamed out ag:ain, "run round the alley, wont you, you know where she lives, I guess, and tell her to come here. I want to see helr." Sally came to the door with her answer,. "She wont come for your wanting her, Miss Ilartsum; wouldn't afore. 'Spose I tell her you 've -heerd from Bertie, and have somethin' to tell her 'bout him. . That'll bring her, I warrant." "Tell her what you choose, Sally; only be quick.'" 1 Mrs. Hartsum lbusied herself about the kitchen, and thought Sally had been very expeditious when she ie- turned after, as Sally averred, a half-hour's absence. , Time. passed more rapidly'for Mrs. Elartsum at manual labor than at hecadwork. "Couldn't find her," said Sally, " nor nothin' about her; 'cept her mother's dead and hber father's gone off, and woman upstairs she lived with after her mother died, 's dead too; and Stell never show ed her :face in the Tr:IE LETTER. . 85 house since, and they don' know where slhe is, unless * she's been sent to the House of Refuge, where, they says, she oug ht to be." "Well now, that's bad," said iMrs. Hlartsum. ,( Bertie 'll feel real hurt, too; and I never so mnuch as to think of her." ):' But Sally retreated to the kitchen, and Mrs. Hartsumn went on thinking and talking 1o herself. "'What could I have done, after all. If her mother died, and father left her, I must havre, turned her over to the overseers, or given her a home here, and that wouldn't have been agreeable. Best as it is, I guess, and I can tell Bertie I sent to inquire after her, and that ought to satisfy hihil., Mrfs. Hartsum resumed her pen; but- did not write fireely. She ascertained that two things are necessary to letter-writing: first, to have something to say; second, to know how to say it. She wished to tell about Stell; but could'not get her story into words. I[Her epistolary efforts were happily interrupted by the entrance of Cleo- patra w ith the message. "Mother, granny wants you." "What for, Cle'?" "Wants to send some message to father anpd Bertie, I believe. , , "Law me! The old lady has given me five-and-fifty hundred messages already, and here I've been all the morning, writing and never thought to send one, of them! Cle', su)ppose you sit down and finish this letter, while I go up to granny ?" "'Well! , said Cle', " that's just what I'd like. What shall I say, mother? , "Tell about that dance-girl; Sally will tell -you what page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 "TIi JULIA. she heard," and Mrs, Hartsur, evading the difficulty of narration, hurried away to the grandmother. up stairs. The old lady sat bolstered up in bed. "Mother, what do you want?" asked the daughter- in-law. "Is that you, Hannah? Sit here on1 the bed; there, so. I want to give you my last words for John and Ber- tie, you know."' "You have already, mother," Hannah screamed. "You've told me before., Don't say it over. It only tires you, and keeps you thinking about dying."' "That;s good to think of, Hannah," and she spoke so solemnly and rationally,( and with so little of her usual irritability, that; Hannah did not try to interrupt her again. "It don't hurt, me. I'm better to-day; and while I'm able I want to leave my dying muessages for Bertie and John." The old lady closed her eyes, clasped her hands, and began her dying speech with great' deliberation. "Hannah, tell Bertie never to. be a wicked sailor. Tell him, in her dying hour his granny remembered what he said about her having been of some use to his soul. And oh! isn't it sweet to know that there's even one she's been of some use to! Tell him, granny hopes he'll be a Christian, and meet her in heaven. Tell that to Bertie.7" "Then John; tell him, he's always been good and kind; he never was ugly, except when he would be a sailor. Tell him I know it was all because I was such a poor crittur of a Christian, always a fretting anid scolding at him and getting into a passion, that he never would be what I've always wanted him to be above anything else, a God-fearing man, areal Christian. Tell him, that if he's lost, I know I'm to blame. Tell him, it's worse nor sick- K.-- TriE LETTER. 87 ness and death, tilis heavy heart of mine about his poor soul, and myself to thank for it. And yet I always tried to do right. And oh! have n't I prayed, and prayed, and prayed for himl; and sofilehow I feel as if he will be a Christian yet; and oh! tell him I'll know it when he does be; and will give praise to the Lord in heaven., The old lady seemed to lose herself here in the joyful emotions her anticipations had awakened. But when Hannah attempted to rise from the bed, she stopped her, and taking her hand affectionately, said: . "Wait Hannah. I've a word for you. I've been a great bother to you. You need n't stop me and deny it. I know I have. And you've been as kind and forbear- ing, I suppose, as you could be-better, any way, than my deservings. But, Hannah, you aint doing- right, nor living right, nor bringing up your childrei right. There's one thing needful, that you seem always Jneglectfil of. And oh! HlHnnah, when I am gone, there'll be no one .. to speak a word to the children. Perhaps my talking in my fretful way has been better than nothing; and per- haps, when I'm gone, you and they and John will think of my poor sayings. Bertie will, I know." At. the thought of Bertie, the old lady burst into tears. Hannah took the opportunity to slip her hand away. The crying fit over, the old lady lay with closed eyes and sealed lips. She did not seem to be sleeping, but medi- tating, praying perhaps. She was quiet; and Hannah Hartsum finding no employment there for her restless industry, left the room and went down stairs. The next one that entered that room found only the worn out tenement of a ransomed spirit. The angelic convoy had filled the place with glory unseen by mortal eye, had sung their songs of triumph unheard by mortal page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 1"THEr. JuLIA. " ear, and borne away the saintly Christian from the dis- solving tabernacle in which she had groaned, earnestly longing to be clothed upon with the house not made with hands. The dying ranesages, which would never have received a second thought had the old lady lived a week longer, were now carefully recalled and committed to writing; and the letter, which was so difficult of composition on its first page, rapidly extended itself till the four pages were full, and over full. That letter, transmitted by the calptain's direction, by steam to England, and thence by packet to Madeira, reached that island the very day the Julia, after anchor- ing there for six weeks, set sail for a longer voyage. The hardened sailor shed tears over it. He and Bertie cried over it together, in their state-room. IX, O it if you dare!, followed by a loud, angry yell, a token that some one had "dared," startled Bertie ns he sat in a natural alcove of rock, easting his eyes on the wild scenery of Madeira, and his lungs with the sweet Madeira air. As quickly as he could, in his weak coni- tio, 7he hurried roun i his weak Condi- tion, he hdrriet Pojlectig precipice, from be- hind whicl the sound came, and recognized the cause of disturbance in the midst of a group composed of the Julia's crew. He hbad seen the men pass some time before, and laughed at their grotesqu e appeara ciunsy t;1-s on little donkeys, the donkeys' ea's and tails tied with bunches of gay ribbons, their riders shoutine, scolding and whiyping Now they were unseated; the, donkeys, held loosely by the bridles formed the outer semi-circle of a group, in the centre of which stood rig Tom, " a huge specimen of manhood, a very giant for niuscle and herculean strength, as evinced by the feat he was now performing. Big Tom grasping " the boy,", (so called, though sizeable enough for a man,) known as Sweeny, by the wrists and ancles, and holding him at arms length over-head, was engaged in the svage amusement of swinging him at such a Curve and with (89) page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 "THE JULIA." such force, that at the end of each aerial excursion he received a sharp, hurtful, but not dangerous blow from a projecting point of rock. Sweeny's face! writhed, not more with pain than witl angry shame at his own ridiculous helplessness. Bertie saw only the pain, and, quick in sympathy, called out to the men to desist. The sudden apparition of the captain's little sick boy, had more effect than his words. Big Tom dropped Sweeny, as an urchin a stolen apple when the lawful owner unexpectedly challenges the right of pos- session; and all shared, with the leader, a feeling of foolishness, at this discovery of their cruel sport. "'Aint you ashamed to treat a boy so!" said Bertie, burning with indignation, and assuning the air of au- thority which their own demeanor towards him had in- spired. At the first' word of reproof, the guilty sheepish look vanished from every face, and each looked ready to defend and able to justify himself., "No ' "He desarves it!" "Good for him!" "Cussed varmint!" were the answers that came volleying out upon the astonished Bertie, Big Tom manifested a disposition to renew the inter- rupted exercise of the extensor and flexor muscles; but the boy had availed himself of the mere instant in which attention had been diverted, and was now. seen clamber. ing up the almost perpendicular precipice with the agility of a cat. It was a dangerous adventure,'even in sailors' eyes. For a minute not a word was spoken; in that time the height was scaled; and the men, too used to risks even to comment on the boy's daring, seemed at once to dismiss him from their thoughts, and were about reimounting their donkeys. Bertie stopped them. THE BRIG'S BOY. 91 "Wait, men, if you please," he said; " what for do you treat Sweeny so?" ! - " 'Cause he desarves it." !* "If he does wrong, why don't you tell father?" he asked with simplicity. The mnen smiled, and then scowled; and Big Tom, stepping out, spoke out what was in the mind of all: "'Tell father!' Perhaps you mean to, young master! But if you do--" "Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Bertie; "I would not tell for anything, unless you'd like me to. I didn't mean to offend you. I would like to know what you have against Sweeny; but you needn't tell me if you don't want to; and I wouldn't have told, if you had told me." There was no resisting the honesty and earneststness of that young and intelligent face. "That's it, hey! and you don't mean to blow us?" Big Tomn was still the spokesman. "Well, then, there isn't much to say, only we all owe Sweeny a grudge. He's the crookedest chap that ever shipped; always a quarrelling ; never a civil word or ready deed for no one. And so, we seeing him here, and he giving a saucy answer to our no ways partic'larly perlite salutation, we thought we'd just---" "Cr-r-r-ash!" A great stone came rushing down the precipice, plough- ing up the ground within three feet of them. A stone, so heavy that it must have killed more than one of them if they had been in its direct path-so heavy, that Sweeny, whose face appeared above the precipice just over them, never could have pushed it off if his strength had not been urged by a spirit of vengeance. The nature of the ground at the base of the precipice had turned the great page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 1 "TiHE JULIA." stone just out of their path; but the great stone had set another big stone in motion, and that had struck Bertie on the leg, knocked him down, and pinioned him to the G ground. It took all Big Tom's strength to remove it. - He was sitting with the fainting boy in his lap, chafing his head with the cool water that trickled down the yocks, when .one of his comrades appeared with Sweeny as his prisoner, grasped by the nape of the neck, and almost choked, by the self-constituted constable. He was greeted with oaths and curses. "' You've done it now!" cried out Big Tom. "You've killed the captain's son, may be; and if you haven't, the captain 'll string you up at the yard-arm for a trying of it. Hurry himL off to the brig, boys! -Don't let the land-lubbers get hold of him; lying in jail here would be too good for him. We'll resarve judgment till we get; out of port." Bertie's animation returned instantaneously. "Stop, men, stop, please!" he cried, "I want to ask a favor. You're none of you hurt, but me; and now this is my quarrel; and I want, please, that none of you should tell father, no more than I'd tell what you didn't want me to." The eagerness of the boy, and the disposition of sailors always to grant a request, and never say ' no," caused a momentary indecision. "But look -here, lad," said Big Tom, your leg's broke, or something, aund the captain'll have to know how it come." t' Well," said Bertie, argumentatively, "Sweeny rolled the stone do'wn; but Sweeny didn't mean to hurt me. So my being hurt is an accident; don't you see?" "Don't know whom he meant to hurt," growled the acting constable. / , .' I: THE BRIG'S Boy. 93 "You didn't mean to hurt me, did you, Sweeny?" asked Bertie of the culprit. Sweeny gave no answer. "Please just say you didn't," urged Bertie. "No, I didn't," lie answered surlily; and then, with a vehement burst of anger, "I meant to kill them, though."' "You did, mly hearty!" exclaimed the constable, and gave an additional twist to the shirt-collar, by which he held him, that sent the blood blackening to his face., Bertie, intent on his object, called them all to witness that his being hurt was only an accident. "And now, men, just to please me, say no more about it than you canl help." Unwillingly the promise was given. But they would not 'release Sweeny from custody; they carried him prisoner to the brig, to keep him, as they said, out of the way of more mischief. Big Tom, relinquishing his un- manageable, donkey to Sweeny, followeI on foot with Bertie in his arms. Bertie had suffered a flesh wound, more painful than a1 broken bone would have been. To be deprived of the newly gained power of locomotion, was a trial. His. patience was equal to it; not a, murmur escaped his lips. Nor was this all resignation, but in part the product of solicitude for Sweeny, lest his father should institute a closer investigation as to the happening of the accident. That accident was followed by at least one benefit. It gave him more of the enjoyable society of dear Mrs. De Seiple, and clever Mr. Strong. The lady had won his heart in the beginning of the voyage, by her happy tact in the way of nursing and entertaining him; and Mr. Strong had grown to be as a brother, by similar and yet very different arts. But, as he had recovered his health, , page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] " "THE JULIA."' Mrs. De Seiple gave him less care as a nurse; and Mr. Strong had become more the teacher than the friend. Now, however, both renewed their assiduities. Both so cheerful, so handy, so kind, talking, reading, or what not, always the best of company, and so ready in expedients to promote his comfort, and amuse the hours that would else have been tedious and forlorn for thepoor invalid. Nor were they bestowing on Bertie mere transient kindnesses. They were doing him good for his life-time, rather, say, for his immortality. The religious principles which his grandmother had implanted, and his long sick- ness had nurtured, were now developed, .under the influ- ence of the missionaries, healthfully and vigorously. He had never before been under a positive christianl influence. He could have fallen under none more wisely directed and happily exerted, than. that of Mr. Strong and Mrs. De Seiple. "Yonder boy',s face is fascinating, and he himself seems fascinated by our young charge," remarked Mrs. De Seiple to Mr. Strong, as they both sat one day beside ? Bertie, lying on the deck of the Julia. Mr. Strong followed the direction of her eyes, and saw a face not to be looked at once with satisfaction; a face not easily made out: yery thin-not much of it in quan- tity, but a great deal, if tneasured by quality, for good or bad-the bad preponderating. Much of its singu- larity was due to its coloring. The skin was the hue and apparently the consistency of dried apples, so yellow and tough. The hair, long and straight, was a deeper yellow. The eyes, large and round, of a pale blue, contrastingr violently with the yellow skin and hair, and acquiring, by the want of harmony, a peculiar prominence; you never looked at him without seeing his eyes and seeming i , I I THE BRIG'S BOY. 95 to see solmething strange in those eyes. The whole face had a startled look about it, that might be mistaken for timidity; but the only fear in it was a fear of being "1 found out" in something wrong, a perpetual suspicion of being suspected, an incessant alertness to ward off punishment. The brow, high and. narrow, was wrinkled with a fiown that had already worn deep perpendicular creases between the eye-brows. The lips were thin, com- pressed, and rather yellow, like his skin, than red as they should have been. The teeth, under the lips, were white and regular; the nose, above them, was straight, thin, anid aquiline. Some might have fancied cunning in the face; a true Lavater would :have recognized only an out-and-out badness-a passionate malignity, ever on tle watch to avow itself in acts of wilful mischief and injury. This was Sweeny, "the boy ;" not a child; but sixteen years old at least, and more like eighteen. When the sailor boy saw that' he was observed, he withdrew his gaze from Bertie, and his bodily presence from that immediate neighborhood. Mr. Strong ex- pressed a wish to know him better. Bertie remarked that his name was Sweeny, and, he feared, he was a very bad boy; bfit kept his reasons for that opinion to him- self: ' He is yoiung," observed Mr. Strong. "Who knows but that kindness and the grace of God may yet win him to the good and the right!" "It were worth the trying," answered Mrs. De Seiple. Both lapsed into silence; each oppressed by the same thought, which they could' not utter in the presence of Bertie Hartsum, -how their hands were tied by the regulations of the brig, that they might not even attempt any good thing in behalf of boy or man in that crew,- page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 "THE JULIA." save prayer, "Save prayer?"-and what better, with all liberty, could they do? or rather, what, without that, would aught else avail? God sometimes takes away the power of using direct means% to drive us to prayer, lest relying on the efficiency of means, we should restrain prayer. This brief conversation stirred up in Bertie's, heart a new interest in Sweeny. He resolved to improve his acquaintance with that scape-grace. Opportunity soon favored hinm. The same day, Bertie observed the sailor boy near him. A book was lying just beyond his reach. He wanted it. "Sweeny," he said, "hand me that book, please." He made the request in a careless tone, for though he wanted Sweeny himself, more than the book for which he asked; instinct, rather than forethought, impelled hill to conceal the former wish. Sweeny would have repelled any ardent advances. As it was, he hesitated to comply. But as Bertie managed to appear indifferent, Sweeny was less tempted to be disobliging. He lifted the book, examined its title, opened it, and as he advanced slowly towards Bertie, read in it audibly and well. Bertie was surprised, for the book was a Virgil. "Canyou translate as well as you read, Sweeny?" The latter nodded. "Let's hear," and Bertie motioned for him to sit beside him, so that both could look over. Not a few lines, merely, but a whole page, Sweeny rendered into nervous English. It was the' account of Juno's visit to Eolus, and the tempest which ensued. Sweeny entered into the passion of the enraged goddess with the vehemence of a kindred nature, and seemed to glut his own vindictive spirit in the imaginary horrors of , , THE BRIG'S BOY. 97 the tempest, till Bertie almost trembled lest the Julia should be indeed-as SwVeeny doubtless wished-tossed on tumultuous billows and wrecked in darkness a nd night. Big Tom observed the two boys bending over the same book with evident concern. Bertie, since the misadven- 'ture at Madeira, had become a great favorite with the crew. The "not telling father," and the magnanimity of his conduct towards Sweeny, had gained their good will and admiration. Each had some kind word for him, always familiarly spoken, as in acknowledgment of good- fellowship, because he was "one of them" now, yet always touched with a degree of respect. Big Tom espe- cially patronized and bowed to him. "You'd better steer clear of that chap, Bertie. He'll do you no good," sung out Big Tom, when1 he saw the coast clear of other listeners. An angry frown and a fierce hiss, testified Sweeny's resentment of this interference. But Bertie, laying his hand on Sweeny's, to restrain him, simply answered, "Tom, he' understands Latin. He can read it better than J.' "I know him better nor he knows books; and he's a bad one, I tell you," and Big Tom, giving a sailor's hitch to, his trowsers, as one that had spoken his mind and had nothing more to say, went off about his business: yet not out of sight; and as long as the conference con- tinued, he kept an anxious eye on the boys, much as he would have done if Bertie had been temerariously play- ing with a wild-cat, or rattle-snake. Sweeny had no mind To return to the Virgil, and was about leaving. Bertie desired to detain him and, hardly knowing what he said, remarked, 5 1 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 "TlTHE JULIA." "You seem to have got the ill will of the men, Sweeny!" "They have got mine, any how!" was the quick and angry response. "Why?" asked Bertie, with his usual simplicity and directness: "First of all, because I hate everybody. Next, be- cause they, these fellows here, my shipmates, hate me. They have done nothing but abuse me ever since - " Sweeny stopped. Bertie divined the case at once and finished the sentence, for him, "Ever since that affair at Madeira. They hate you because you hurt me!" "Yes!" said. Sweeny: relieved that the truth was out, without his own speaking it. "How do they show it?" asked Bertie. "They won't let me sleep. They put all the hard work on me they can. They cheat me out of my ra- tions.5"-Bertie observed now that he was fearfully emaciated: but that might have been the effect of the hot fever of a consuming temper, as much as of insuffi- cient food and rest.---' Oh I wish--" Sweeny stopped again, incapable of rendering the ve- hemence of his wish. "That you were dead?," suggested Bertie, at a venture. "No!" he answered passionately. "That were a girl's wish! I wish to live and grow up and be rich and mighty. I wish for power to pay these fellows off. That's what I wish!" And his sallow- cheek reddened, his white teeth ground together, and- his blue eye grew dark with the intensity 6f his passion. Bertie had never witnessed such anger, and could only wait till the paroxysm was over. Then, when the boy THE. BRIG'S BOY. 9 was again about to rise and leave him, Bertie prevented with another question. "Sweeny, how did it happen that you ever became sailor?" "Because," lie answered, and it seemed to be a pleas ure to say it, and give vent to his impetuous temper: 'Sbecause, my mother was a fool and my father a rascal! This was more than Bertie could stand. It appalled him. "Don't, don't talk so," he said. "I'll never speak to you again, if you talk that way." "You needn't to," was the angry rejoinder; and Sweeny jumped up and walked away. "Oh, but I want to," Bertie called after him, "if you only won't say what's wrong*." "It is true, any way," muttered Sweeny as he walked forwards. page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] X. alit (S9tasfg lrWW. MO ERTIE was in trouble. He could not bear to be even innocently the cause of suffering to another; and he saw plainly that the love of the men to himself increased their ill-Will towards Sweeny. How, now, could he de- liver him from their power? Captain Hartsum detected the cloud on the usually bright face of-his darling son. What's matter, Be:tie?" he asked. The boy was undressing for bed. He desisted at once, and, seating himself on his father's knee, answered the question: "Father, I feel so sorry for poor Sweeny. The men don't like him-niever did-and they will kill him, if things go on as they are now." "You've no need to be sorry for him. You'd been almost well now but fobr him," responded the captain, his mask coming partially over his face as he spoke. "But, then, father, that was an accident, you know!" and Bertie looked inquisitively into his father's face, fearing that he knew more than was supposed. And so he did, as his next words proved. "Accident! tush! It was an accident that you were hurt, but not that that stone hurt you." "Oh'! father, has any one told you about it?" asked (100) THE CAPTAIN'S Roonr. 101 Bertie, in great distress. "Who could have? and they promised not." Bertie's distress softened the captain; ; he smiled as lie answered-a smile that told his satisfaction in his noble- hearted son, who could not bear a grudge even where he had suffered a serious injury. "Sweeny himself told me, Bertie. He's a strange boy-insolent, fiery, bad-very bad; and yet bold and outspoken. He came right to me that very day, and told me everything that happened. He never said he was sorry though-except that he was sorry lhe had not killed the men; and he vowed he would[ kill some of them yet, if they didn't leave him alone." "Did he say that, father? 9 "'Yes; he's a bad boy-a very bad boy. You'd better have nothing to do with him." "But, then, father, I think there's something good about him for all. He knows Latin; he talls almost like a gentleman's son; and I know he hasn't had good parents, for he told me so. And I've been thinking, father, or rathler I heard Mrs. De Seiple and Mr. Strong say, that something might be made out of him, if any- body 'd take the pains." "I shouldn't wonder," said the captain. "Fact is, I rather like the boy, for all." "Oh! then, you'll. do something for hilm; won't you, father?" "I don't know what to do. I couldn't oflend the men by speaking to them, and they have borne more from him than I would." Bertie looked disappointed. "Father," he said, sug- gestively, "suppose he comes to the cabin and eats his meals after we've done?" page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 "T -riE JULIA." "Can't. Against regulations." "Regulations!" said Bertie, spitefully. "It seems to me that there are regulations against everything good on the Julia! against preaching, and praying, and every- thing! Mr. Strong says that even he mustn't speak to the men, and tell them how to be good and happy, because the regulactions don't allow it. Father, did Mun- nypen & Co. make the regulations? If they did, I mean to ask them, when I get home again, to change them." The captain was discomposed. He answered in a sub- dued voice-"I've been thinking, Bertie, regulations might be changed some for the better. I don't think your dear granny would have approved them. We'll see if we can't improve them." "But about Sweeny, f:ther: what can we do for him?" asked Bertie, impatient, childlie, of every sub- ject but the one then uppermost in his thoughts. "Wonder if he'd consent to be cabin boy?". "What's that?" "To stay in the cabin, wait and tend, run of errands for the passengers, help the steward and the cook." "Oh! wouldn't that be nice! And then he'd be here all the time, away from the men; and Mrs. De Seiple and Mr. Strong could talk to him ts much as they chose." Bertie clapped his hands with pleasure. "May I be the one to tell him about it, andc ask him to be cabin boy?" "Yes;" his father smiled to se'e the son's pleasure. "But you must tell him that he will have to do duty as a sailor, in bad weather, or any stress' of work. .We're short of hands; and I couldn't get a cabin-boy after the missionaries had engaged to come with us. There wasn't time." Bertie finished the process of undressing in great THE CAPTAIN'S ROOM. 103 glee. His last act, before lying down, was to say his prayers. His father always left him alone, then, either from motives of delicacy, or because he was not partial' to acts 'of devotion. To-night, however, he hesitated. Bertie was already on his knees, when the captain, taking his seat again, said to him softly: "Bertie, will you mind me, if I stay?" The boy looked, up at him with a funny, wondering face. "Why, no, father; why should I?" The captain smiled. "Well, then, Bertie," he said, "say your prayers out loud, just as you would if I wasn't here." Bertie began. He repeated some prayers committed to memory. Then he prayed in' his own language for all at home, and for all on shipboard-not forget;ing Sweeny. Then he hesitated, looked over his shoulder to see if his father was there, for he seemed to have forgotten him. The captain guessed what was the matter, and said to hinmsoftly: "Go on, Bertie ; don't you pray for your father, too?" Bertie could not say it out very plainly, however, and all that the captain could hear was-"' Bless my father, and convert him.", Bertie went to bed, and the captain, more affected than he would have liked any but that pure-hearted boy to know, sat beside him stroking his hair. He was conning over in his mind the query, whether Bertie, in praying for him, understood the exact form of the words he used, or whether he repeated them by rote. At last, he asked him: "Bertie, what do you mean by asking God to convert 'me?" page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 "'ITHE JULIA." Bertie did not answer. "Don't you think "--he spoke a little harshly, as if offended-" that I am good?" The little fellow was out of bed, and had his arms around his father's neck in a minute. "Why, yes, father; you are the best man almost that ever lived. A great deal better than many Christians." The father returned his embrace warmly, but perse- vered in his catechising. "Then you th ink me a good Christian, don't you. " Bertie was silent and seemed to be reflecting. At last he said in a low voice, Father, I don't know that I ought to tell you ctl I think about you; and I guess, father, if you wont be vexed at my saying it, you ought not to ask me such questions." The captain, long afterwards, in referring to this con- versation, saidl to his wife, "Hannah, I always did think that boy the very smartest boy that ever lived, if he is my son and yours, Hannah, and neither of us is Wonder- ful, but I never expected that much sense in him. I felt right ashamed of myself and as if I ought to ask his pardon. But I didn't tell him so. I wanted to find out what he really thought and knew, and so, after consider- ing a moment, I asked him, '( Bertie,. can a man be good and not be a Christian? "I don't know, father," Was the answer, "Lbut it seems to me there are some very good people who are not Christians either. For they don't pray, and they don't read their Bibles, and they don't seerm to think about God or trying to keep his commandments; but a Christian. does all these things. M[rs. De Seiple and Mr. Strong do, any way; and there was granny, she did I'm sure, and yet any way an c THE CAPTA IN'S RooM. 105 granny wasn't as good in some ways as others are. But those sort of good people never get any better; they are j ust so good and there they stay, if they don't grow worse. But a Christian even if he is not so very good to begin with, is always wishing and trying to be better, and praying to God for help, and seeking to serve God and make others serve God. Isn't it so, father?" "Well, Bertie," the captain answered, "I'm not very wise about such things." And with this non-committal. answer the captain left the cabin, not soon to forget what he had heard, while the boy turned over to go to sleep and think no more of it. His last thoughts indeed that night were about Sweeny. Captain Hartsum did not remain on deck. He soon re- turned to his state-room; seated himself where he could look at his sleeping child, and sat there long, thinking. What was he thinking about? The last time we were in the captain's company he stood at the ship's side, leaning on the bulwarks, hum- ming the tune of "Loving kindness." That tune, and the words of the first verse of the hymn, (he had learned it in his childhood,) " stuck to his mind," as he afterwards expressed it. He would find himself humming the tune aloud, or repeating the words over and over to himself. He was vexed with himself for doing so. But the more he tried to forget the tune and the words, the more per- tinaciously they returned to his mind. Nlor could he always help thinking of the meaning of the words. Thus one day he caught himself singing, over and over, the words, "Awake my soul to joyful lays." "Joyful lays!" he ex, claimned in a pet. "Mighty joyffil religion is, all about death and judgment and those things " "But then," thought 5* page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 "THE JULIA." he, a moment after, involuntarily turning the subject over in his mind, "religion ought to be joyful, too, if heaven's what they say it is. And these nissionaries, some- how seem to be happy after their'fashion. They're not as noisy about it as the men in the fo'c'sle. But the men grumble and quarrel right on top of their jovial songs, and these missionaries never show a glum look and all their words are cheery. And as for that Mrs. De Seiple, it does seem as if a streak of light came from somewhere and fell right on her heart the whole during time! And there's Mr. Strong! There's something aboit his stiff ways and solemn looks at times that isn't becoming. But he's a happy one for all and no mistake!" Thus it happened that the tune and words of "Lovino kindness," so provokingly lingering in his memory, often set the captain thinking; and this together with a serious remark dropped occasionally by the missionaries, gave his reflections a decidedly religious turn'. Bertie's child- like piety, apparent to his father now for the first time, for he never had an opportunity before to see so much of the boy, won the captain's admiration. Besides all this, the intelligence of his mother's death and her last words, received at Madeira, greatly affected the captain, and now this evening Bertie's artless words had awakened his conscience and pierced his heart. -So the captain was thinking to good purpose in his dimly lighted state-room, gazing on the innocent face of his sleeping child; and the immediate result of his re- flections was a resolution to invite the missionaries to hold Sunday services on deck, and to give them every reasonable facilityt in their desire to benefit the crew. The next morning Bertie could not wTait till his usual time for going on deck to communicate with Sweeny, but k , t -. THE CAPTAIN'S ROOM. 107 sent for the sailor-boy to come to the captains room. Sweeny obeyed the summons with surprise. Bertid, de- lighted with the proposition he had made, never surmised the possibility of its rejection, nor, as he recounted all the advantages which the position of cabin-boy would give to Sweeny, did he observe the frown of ill-lumor on the unamiable face of that youth. "Be a cabin-boy!" exclaimed Sweeny, at last, in a rage; "a waiter! a servant! No, indeed. I shipped as a sailor, and a sailor I'll be." Bertie was dismayed. , He tried feebly to reason with Sweeny. In vain. The boy had some notion of his being a gentleman, even though a sailor, and a notion that to become a cabin-boy would ungentlenman him for ever, and this Bertie knew not how to controvert. At last, however, when talked into gooc humor and touched and soothed by Bertie's undeserved interest in him, he frankly avowed his utter unfitness for the position of a cabin-boy, were-there no other objection, on the score of an evil and unruly temper. THe would, most likely, he said, break the dishes, or throw them at somebody's head, even the captain's, the first time he was offended. T'his argument was conclusive. Bertie had to relinquish his kind and darl]ing pi'oject of making Sweeny a cabin-boy. All. that he could do for Sweeny was to exercise his influence in'the boy's behalf with the men, coaxing them to bear patiently with his faults, and return good for evil. In the meantime, by dint of perseverance, appealing to Sweeny sometimes for help in his studies, which he found him abundantly able to give, and talking with him in boyish fashion as occasior offered, and, as he became able once more to walk a little using Sweeny's arm, which was more helpful than that of page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 "THE JULIA."' a taller person's, there grew up a mutual liking and con- fidence between the two, notwithstanding Big Tom's un- disguised disapprobation. "You never told me how you came to be a sailor?" said Bertie one day. "You snubbed me at the beginning," answered Sweelny angrily. . Bertie, irritated in turn, answered sharply," You've no right to speak of your father and mother as you did. You're a bad boy or you would not do it!" "They deserved no better of me; at least, father never did. They never treated me as parents should a child; and so they gave me clear of filial duty. 'Filial duty! Filial duty! Stuff! That's what Parson Grummer was for ever harping about. He'd better begun with parents and taught them parental duty! "Who was Parson Grummer?". asked Bertie. "Oh, he was a parson, and kept a school, and I went to him, that's all-except that I hated him," and Sweeny relapsed into moody silence. "Did you ever hear sailors spin yarns, Sweeny?" asked his companion after some minutes silence. "Yes." "I never did. I wish you would spin me a yarn and 'tell me all about yourself'. "It would end with your hating me, and then I would hate you, as I do every one else, except, one," replied Sweeny after a little deliberation, yet evidently wavering between a habit of disobligingness )and an inclination to make a confidant of Bertie. , "Oh, no. I am sure it would not,'" answered Bertie. "I think, if I knew all about you, I could make more ex- THE CAPTAIN'S RooM. 109 cuses for you, and then I'd like you all the better, you know.9" Sweeny delibeiated. "Y ou will never tell," he said at last. "Never a word," affirmed Bertie. "Well, then, I guess I will. It will be something new anyway; and I am dreadfully tired of this for ever sailing on the sea, with the same things to do, and the same sights to look at, and the same folk to hate every day." The boys had been walking on the deck. They chose out now a retired spot where none could overhear. Sweeny first made Bertie comfortable, then took a place beside him and told his story. "4k, page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] XI. T1 AM English.", "Wait; tell me your name first ;; your whole name,' interrupted Bertie. "Suetonius :Haaze White. That is my name and is not my name; but it is the only name I intend to be, known by."' "I don't understand. Was ' White' your father's name?" "Yes and no; and that's all I'll tell you,"' he answered impatiently. "Very well; go on then," said Bertie, resignedly. "I was born in -- no matter exactly where; it was in England, that's enough. Mother was - ) "Take care!" interposed Ber'tie, beseechingly. "Mother was silly, or she would not have loved father, who was-- , "Take care! ' ejaculated Bertie again. "Father was bacd. That's the least I can say, and I will say it. I -would, if he were my father a thousand times over. Mother loved father with such love as one may read about and never see. He did not care a ha'- penny for her. Because mother loved him she did -not love me. She seemed to have expected that I would buy A "io) iT I THE BOY'S YARN. 1" his love to her, (nothing but money could do that, and it was not worth the money it would. cost,) and when she found that he did not like me, only regarded me as an expense and incumbrance, she lost her interest in me. She never was unkind' exactly. She never refused me anyrthing I, asked for, nor punished me for anything' I did; and was only cross when I -troubled her very much. But she left me to do what I pleased, and grow up as I mlight. She gave up the care of me to Mag, my nurse. Mag loved me just because nobody else did; and as nobody but I loved Mag, her favor did not make me popular; the servants all hated me for Mag's sake. And so it happened, that from my earliest infancy I was neglected, teazed, crossed and kept always angry. They say I'm passionate. 'I'd like to know who made me so! "Mag had only me to talk to ; she kept nothing back from me; she talked straight out, about mother, or father, or anybody; so that, before most children begin to understand things at home, I knew just how it wras, and why no one cared for me. I knew that father cared for no one that he could not get money fronm to spend on his own pleasure, and that mother cared only for father, and how to get money to give to him. "Mother is dead now. I got her letters, vhen she died; and putting together what they say and what Mag told me, I learned her whole history. Mother, I guess, was a little bit crazy; and for all .I'm mad with her for loving father so, yet, seems to me, if she had lived, and I ihad known what I now know, it would have been differ- ent between mother and me." The softened voice in which this was said was the first indication Bertie ob- served of a sensitive and affectionate nature under the harsh exterior of the passionate boy. Bertie pressed his page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 C TILIE JULI ." A. hand. The pressure' as neither returned nor resented. He proceeded in a more quiet and isubdued way. "3lother was an orphan girl, rich in her own right, plain-looking, country-bred. She lived with a queer, half-savage uncle, in a big, lonely stone house, among hills and moors; in Lancashire, with no one to talk with; reading novels in out-of-the-Way haunted rooms, and growing romantic. She had one firiend, about as romain- tic as herself, the daughter of a rector some ten miles from Clinchley Hall, whom she saw as often as once a month and wrote to once a week. /er letters :are the ones I learned all this from. Mother met father at a county ball; she fell in love with his handsome person; he fell in love with her fortune. Uncle hated him; and vhen she would marry him, uncle forbade her the house, and never saw her agnin. "Father bought a cottage with mother's money, in an. out-of-the-way place in Lincolnshire, furnished it hand- somely, and staid there six weeks; then he went to Lon- don,. and never spent six successive days at homle agahl as long as mother lived. Mag used to hear from his ser- vant and tell me what sort of a life he led in London, and, that when he came 'home it was always to get money. Mother was slower in finding him. out than others were. She believed what he said. . Half her property was gone before she even suspected his love; and then she could not give over loving him. And that I guess made her crazy. She would sit with his likeness before her, looking at it for hours and days. She would save all the money she could, to ,send to him, begging him always to come home. She dismissed all the servants but two, Mag and the cook, and[ almost starved us to save money for father. It was what they call a monomania, I suppose, -her love to father. 2, O i pl Nd-1 - THE BOY?S YARN. 113 "It used to make me mad; and when one day I flew into a passion-I was about eleven years old then-and called father a rogueand her a fool; and said that I was not going-to be starved for himn and that, I would have a lorse of my own--for she had sold the carriage-horses long ago, and was trying to sell my riding pony-she got frightened, and made up her nmind to send me away to school. So it was soon arranged that I was to go to Par- son Grumnmer's academy. Before this I had been taught to read by the rector's daughter, and had begun to take lessons of the rector himself. "My going to school was the cause of the only quarrel I ever heard of between mother and father. (I' always put mother first, because she was the best of the two.) Mag overheard'it and told me. Father objected to giv-' inug me an education. It would cost too much; it would be better to bind me out to some honest trade, he said. Mother's family pride took fire. She said none of the I-aazes ever had been tradespeople or mechanics, and that her son should be brought up as a gentleman, 'if she spent all that was left on his education. Father cooled down, and pretended to be in jest. But he was not; and what he. said then was the only good service he ever did me. I had been unwilling to go to school; but when I foupd that my going annoyed him, and that he did not wish me to be educated, I resolved that I would go, and that I would learn all I could, just to spite him. So I went to Parson Grummer's, and Mag was sent off to Hull, and my pony was sold, and mother lived all alone with one servant, at Thornbrake Cottage. "I studied hard, just to spite father. But I soon got to like study for its own sake; and this kept, me out of mischief, and prevented any such outhreaks of temper as page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] "4 "THE JU LIA." might have expelled me from the academy. As it was, I was always quarrelling with the boys, or they with me. I hated them all, and I hated Parson Grummer, though my good scholarship made him flavor me;, but I hated him because he was always harping onfilial duty! "I had not been three months at Parson Grummer's, when mother died. Father wrote me about a month after her death, (the only letter'he ever wrote me in his life, or will, likely,) saying that she was dead and buried and that Thornbrake Cottage was sold and everything in it; and that I was to stay where I was, vacations and all till I heard from him. again. I felt desolate enough when this news came; for though mother never loved me, yet she was the nearest to a friend I had in the world except Mag, and she couldn't do for me. I remembered then, too, what I had not thought much of before, that mother had long been. growing thinner, and weaker, and sadder. And sometimes her face comes back to me now, oh! so hopeless and dreary! till. I feel that I wish we had known each other better, mother and I." "I wish you had!" said Bertie, tearfully. The response was angry. "You little fool! She was crazy! and I"-he added, dejectedly-" am not much better." "I may as well finish all I have to say about mother and be done with it," he resumed briefly. "I went to Thornbrake once after her death. The way it happened was this. Parson Grummer's academy was in Yorkshire, not far from Iull, where Mag lived. Mag came to see me just before vacation. I got her to ask permission for me to visit her in the vacation; and as my board would be paid just the same, whether I was there or not, they were only too glad to be rid of me, for I never was a ' * "IQ THE BoY's YARN. 115 favorite with any of them, unless it was with the parson himself. Well, the very first day of the vacation, I started off, not for Hull, as they thought-I let the stage pass on without me -but on foot for Thornbrake, some fifty "Ies soutit of Parson Grummer's. I arrived there the next day towards evening, foot-sore and hungry, for I had little mloney; and got along with as little eating as I could. I had intended to spend the night at an ale-house. But if I had ever loved anything, it Was-next to my pony, 'Fancy,' and my dog, 'Growler,' a fierce bull- terrier-the trees and walks, and all. unhuran things about Thornbrake; and the desiire to see them once more made me, tired as I was, walk on past the ale-house, to catch one glimpse of the old place. Each familiar object enticed me further, till I found myself in front of the house itself. It was shut up and looked desolate enough. I walked up to it and around it, and as I turned the cor- ner of the house on the rear-side, at the smle instant a light from the kitchen came streaming across my path and a low growl made me stop. The next moment, a big black and yellow dog was capering around me, licking my hands and giving short barks of delight. It was my own Growler. I was happier than he, fell 'down on the grass, rolled over and over with him in my arms, some- tinmes he was on top and 'sometimes I was, and as often as he licked my face, I gave him a kiss back. We were two happy dogs together. After awhile, who should open the kitchen door, to'find out the cause of Growler's excitement, but my mother's old servant, Betsey. "' Bless us! Mas'r Suetonius. Is that you?' "' Is that you, Betsey? What are you doing here? I thought the house was sold and all cleared out.' "'Bless us! no. 'Taint sold yet. Mas'r wants to sell page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6 "THE JULIA." it, and keeps me here to'show it. Buts the folks that come don't like it, either because it's so unneighborly situated, or because, they says, the price is overmuch. But come in, dear. Come in.' "'Can I stay here all night, Betsey?' I asked. "Bless us! Why not, dear? I'm sure I'm glad to have any one:: the house is haunted like, with the mistress a pining away and dying by inches, all of a broken heart, up stairs. I never was narvous. But, bless us! I'm glad to have even Growler, and you's knows how I used to hate him.' "Yes, thought I, and me too. However, the welcome was full as cordial as I cared for. I went in. I Betsey gave me supper and talked all the while of mother. I had never heard so much said in praise of her; and when, at last, Betsey told me how her mistress longed to see me before she died, and asked father to send for me, and he promised to and never did, and how mother kept look- ing for me to the very last and asked continually ' If her poor child had come?'-I had to stop Betsey by pleading weariness. I went to bed. Growler and I slept that night in my old room. And all night I dreamed of mother; and once I thought she came to me and threw her arms around me and told me that she wanted to love me, for she had no one else to love. "I spent a week in the old house. I went from garret to cellar, prying into every nook and corner, drawing out to light things that had long hid in darkness:- toys I had played with, books I had studied, clothes I had worn; and things of mother's, especially her papers; all of which I read with a sort of fascination. I pored over her account books, noting the minutest items, showing as they did what pinching economy she had practised for THE BOY'S YARN. 117 many a long year. But what I valued most were the letters I found in mother's secretary: these I fairly de- voured. They were carefully sorted. First were the letters of the girl, Alvira Tressle, mother's only and life- long friend, full of romance, simplicity, and nonsense. Then letters from father, written before marriage, full of Ccommon place and exaggerated professions of love, dashed off' with the heartlessness of a man who had said the same things hundreds :bf times and attached no importance to them. There were draughts of mother's replies to these letters-so carefully worded, so often amended, so high- flown, and yet so full of warmth and confidence, taking all he said into a truthful heart and makling the most of it that a love-sick girl could! Then there were father's letters after marriage; letters full of hypocritical expres- sions of love and petitions for remittances of money in pay for them; fault-finding, scolding letters, because she did not send him enough; and lying letters, as I am sure they were, giving, extraordinary reasons why large sums of money were immediately needed to extricate'him from great embarrassments, or to enable him to avail himself of vast advantages which were to result in immense riches;--how my heart sickened over them! Last of all, were Alvira Tressle's letters of sympathy and advice during the long years of that unhappy marriage; and by these letters, I could tell how crazy mother had been, though Alvira never seemed to suspect it. Then I found in mother's portfolio, two unfinished letters in her own hand-writing. One of them I always keep by me: here it is." He took it out of an inner pocket, and removed the wrappers with which it was carefully protected. As he did so, a ring fell on the deck. He eagerly caught it. ,L *.;V page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 "THE JULIA." "Mother's wedding ring," he said. "The only piece of jewelry not sold. Betsey says she left her watch for me. I never saw nor heard of it.. This I found where father had put it. I felt. it was more mine than his, or he would not have left it where he did." He put it on his finger. "This letter is to Alvira Tressle. It was written a fort. night before mother died." He handed it to Bertie, who read to himself as follows: "THORNBRARIE COTTAGE, August--, 18-. "MY DEAREST, MY only FRIEND, "I have been very ill-not for a few days, but for months and years. 1 have only now found it out. For the last forty-eight hours I have islept almost without waking. It is long since I have had an hour's unbroken slumber before. From that sleep I awoke-as fiolm a dream years long-awoke, my friend, to the perception of a horrible truth. Alvira, I have been crazy. Yes! crazy with,love-with love to one not worthy of it, and who never sincerely loved me. Yet for him I have sacri- ficed everything---fortune, life-and, more than all, my poor, dear, only child! I have cast my son out' of mny heart, because he could not win for me the worthless heart of my husband, I have neglected him-estranged him-impoverished him. This reminds me that I have an act of justice and reparation to perform in his behalf. And I stop, while I have strength and a clear mind, to attend to that first; then, dear Alvira, for those words- last words, perhaps-which I have yet to say to you." Bertie returned the unfinished letter to Sweeny, who carefully replaced it and the ring in the multitudinous layers of envelopes, and restored the package to his pocket, before he continued his narrative. "The other letter I spoke of was, evidently; to an THE BOY'S YARN. 119 attorney; I gathered from it that she had made a will bequeathing all she had to father. Now, she wished a new will written in my favor, leaving only a small annuity to him. But the letter was unfinished, and, of course, never sent. "At the end of a week I left Thornbrake for ever. I wanted to take Growler with me. But Betsey begged hard that he might stay 'for company in the house haunted of the mistress a dying of inches up-stairs,' as she said, and promised to see thatjhe got a good master when she left the place; and so, as I was not sure I would be allowed to keep him at the academy, I left the dear old dog at Thornbrake, and trudged on, sad and lonely, to Hull. I spent two nights and a day with Mag. She was keeping house for her brother--a fisherman. Poor enough they were. I gave them all the money I had left, and walked back to Parson Grummer's aca- demny. "For the first and only time in my life I felt like being good. I tried not to quarrel and hate every one. But they would n't let me not do it. The boys disliked me, and irritated me. 'Happily, they were afraid of me. I was strohger than any of them, and as fierce as my own Growler. So I fought my way on-not unhappy- for I loved study, and excelled in all the classes; but unsociable, hated, and hating. ("I had been at the school about eighteen months, when, one day, father made his appearance. The boys were in the play-ground, and saw him enter the gate that opened into the court-yard, in fiont of the house. "' Who'sthat?' asked one? "' He looks like a lord,' said another. "Father was a handsome man; and, with a flush of page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 "TTIIE JULIA. pride, I said-' That's my father.' The next minute all the bitter feelings of years came boiling up in my heart, ad I was madI was a with mysef for feeling any pride or plea- sure in him. bcWhy don't you go and meet him?' isked a stupid blockhead. "The next instant he was sprawling on the ground. I could not help knocking him down, for I thought he was taunting 'me. No one dared say anything to me after that, whatever they thought and said among themselves. I sat under a tree, pretending to read, but in reality won- dering what :father had come for. At last I was sum- moned to his presence. I found him alone. Our greeting was cold. He was gracious in manner; but I knew it was a heartless manner, and I repulse lit. I saw him bite his lip; but he walked to the window, and hummed a tune. Directly he turned and spoke to me. "You are to leave the school, Suetonius. Dr. Grum- mer has gone to order the packing of your trunk, and make out his accounts. If there is anything you wish to attend to yourself, now is your time.' "Without a word, I left him. Buft ny heart was full' of gall. I knew, as well as if he had told me, that all chance for an education was over. I had no farewells to say, except very formal ones to Dr. and Mrs. Grummer and to the second teacher. I did not seek my father's presence again till called to take my place beside him in the travelling earlrage. The boys had got wind of my departure. They all stood on the garden wall, and we had to drive past them. "There goes the tyrant,' called out the biggest, coward of them all; three cheers, boys, for good riddance!' : . ., THE BOY's YxARN. 121 "The cheers were heartily given. I almost leaped out of the carriage window in my desire to punish them. But father held me back. ' The boys don't seem to love you, Suetonious,7 he said, in his ironical way. "' And I don't pretend to love them,' said I, looking straight into his face. Hie understood my meaning, and returned an angry scowl. Then he laughed, and began humming a tune. Not another word passed between us till we arrived at Hull and drove up to the door of the Red Lion. ' ' We are to take dinner here,' was all father said. "Dinner was over before father spoke again. Then he said his say-eveiry word as cool and clear as an icicle, aInd with his ugly smile on his face-a smile of triumphant selfishness. "' Suetonius,' le said, ' I have been unfortunate, and can no longer afford to keep you at school. The little your mother left is spent. You must depend on yourself for a livelihood. I have done the best for you I could; have secured for you a situation which will support you now, and enable you to provide for yourself hereafter. Come with me. My time is short.' "We went out together up the street, down an alley, into a harness-maker's shop. Only one man was in the slop-a big, greasy, cruel-looking fellow. The empty benches around showed that there had been others working in the shop. "'How do you do,' said father, addressing the man. I forget what name he called him by. (Here is the boy, You have the papers ready?' "Yes, sir,' answered the man, producing a document from his pocket. 6 page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 "THE JULIA." "Father took the paper, read it, and said, "'All right. Here is the money, ten pounds.' He laid it on one of the empty benches. 'Now let me sign those indentures. I am in a hurry.' "'Walk in here, sir,' said the man, showing the ivay into a little back office. ".We both followed. Father and the man signed the paper; and father took the man's receipt for the ten pounds. "'There, that's done,' said father, ' I have not a minute to lose. Good bye. You must be strict with the boy, and not mind a little wholesome discipline. Good bye; Suetonius.' H[e offered his hand. . I would not take it. He only smiled, and went on as coolly as if he was giving the pleasantest information. 'This is your master, Sue- tonius. I have apprenticed you to him till you are eighteen years of age, to learn harness-mlaking. If you behave yourself, of course I shall do something handsome in the way of .establishing you in business.' "Bah! how mad it makes me to remember the hateful look with which he said this. But, then, my heart was writhing under the insult' he had put on me in calling that man my master! He hurried out of the shop. I turned to follow him. "'Where are you going?' shouted the harness- maker. "I deigned no reply. I was already out of the office door, when his fat, strong hand, curse it!" and he shrugged his shoulders, "I feel its fhateful touch now, dragged me back. He held me with one hand, locked the door with the other, put the key in his pocket, and let go of me. He thought to frighten me with fierce words and looks. He did not know me. THE Boy's YARN. 123 "'Look here, lad,' he said, 'you're my 'prentice. You're to mind me, and when you don't, this strap,' taking down one from a nail,' is to wallop you with; it las tasted the hide of better fellows than you. Now say if you'll go with me quietly and mind me exactly or not? ' I said nothing', unless my glowing eyes spoke for me. "'You. wont speak, hey? Then I'll make you.' He lifted the strap. "' If you touch me with that, you rascal,' I said, through my teeth, 'I'll kill you. I'm a gentleman and not to be flooged by such as you.'i "He laughed fiercely as he answered,' I'll take the gen- tleman ont of you!' He lifted the strap again, but before it came down I seized a awl and plunlged it into his side. He tried to clutch me, but he was heavy and lumberly, and I was ac- tive and nimble. I sprang behind him and gave him another stab. He turned on me again, and again I was behind him and gave him a third stab. He got hold of me then by my left arm. I twisted myself between his legs, and gave him a stab in the abdomen, and he fell over me backward, heavily and helplessly. He was not dead, then; whether I killed him or not, I never heard. Without losing a second, I got the key from his pocket, let myself out, locked the office door on the outside, and happening to see the ten pound note as I passed through the shop, and considering it more mine than his, I put it in my pocket, and hurried away throgh the darkening streets to Mag's. "Mag was at home, and alone; she was preparing supper for her fisherman brother. I told her all. Mag cried and bemoaned herself as if she were my mother. page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 "THE JULIA." But she soon bestirred herself, as became the necessity of the case. "'The best thing for you to do,' she said, 'is to get out of Hull. A ship sails for America to-morrow morning, at dawn: will you go in her as sailor-boy? "'Yes, anything,' said I. "'Come along, then,' "In fifteen minutes Mag and I were on board the ship. I was rather young, they said, but their great want of a boy was my best recommendation. So I signed the ship's articles and was shipped. iMag undertook to get my trunk'from the Red Lion and, with the ten pound note, to buy me an outfit. All were on board before nine o'clock that night, for Mag and her brother, who entered warmly into the scheme when informed of the circumstances, knew that my safety depended on despatch. "So I became a sailor. One morning a school-boy, plodding at Latin and Greek, the evening of the same day, a sailor-boy, running up the shrouds of a three- master. And a sailor I am still. I hate it. I've met with nothing but ill-will from captains and men. I feel degraded and cheated out of my birthright. I long for Old England, but never dared to touch her shores since that cursed night. Nor have I heard a word in these six, nearly seven years, of father, of Mag, or of any one else I ever knew. Sometimes all the past seems a dream. And sometimes I imagine the present, too, only a fearful illusion; that these men with pea-jackets and sailor- trowsers, are in fact fiends; that the waves of the sea, glistening in this southern sun, are molten fire; that the world itself is hell, and I, in the veritable torment that Parson Grummer was forever denouncing against unduti- ful children!" THE Boy's YARN. 125 "What do you think of me?" asked Bertie. "Am I too an imp?" "I'm not sure," was the gloomy response. "I may not have found you out yet. I have been deceived be- foite, and I may again, may be. But if you are not an imp, you are either a little fool and will. hate me when you grow wiser, or else you are a young angel! 1" At this moment Sweeny's watch was called, and he hurried away, as much, Bertie, surmised, to hide his own excited feelings, as because his duty required such alacrity. ] page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] JASPER KASE, first mate, wa-s a hard case. The expletives with which he ga'nished his discourse were offensive to good taste and morality, to say nothing of their repulsiveness to a christian conscience. Even Cap- tain Hartsum, addicted as he iwas to ordinary forms of cursing andi swearing, was often startled by the ingenious and original oaths of his first mate. It seemed to be with that official a matter of pride to display at once his genius and his hardihood by inventing such diabolical and heaven-daring imprecations as never entered into the impious thought of any other muan. Captain Hartsutm even was shocked. Hie hd no objec- tion to a little spice in the way of fthiliar common-place swearing. But Jasper Kase exceeded the bounds of even a sailor's propriety; he out-devilled the devil. Captain Hartsum had never expressed his sentiments on this sub- ject. 1fe had preferred the course whch many better men adopt, to seem deaf and unobservant. But there came a change over Captain Hartsunm; /he swore less himself and grew less indulgent to his men. One morning Jaspelr Kase was swearing like forty thieves. ' Captain Hartsum stood by the helm looking out upon the sea, very serious and thoughtful. It was Sunday morning, and the first Sunday after the captain's (126) ,a^;^ ^^ STEADY WINDn. 127 conversation with Bertie in the- state-room. The mate swore on, and the captain did not seem to hear him. But at last the mate uttered a fearful oath close by the captain's ear. The captain whirled round upon him sud- denly and savagely, and asked him a very pointed ques- tion: "Do you want to go to hell?" Jasper Kase was bewildered. Did not comprehend the question. He only stared at the captain, and forgot to utter the next oath that was trembling on his lips. The captain, who had spoken 'angrily, seemed himself ashamed, and added, seriously, "Jasper, stop that swear- ing. Does no good. Oaths are like barnacles. They stick fast to the bottom, out of sight, eat holes in the soul, and will sink you into perdition." Jasper never said a word. He could not. He was overcome witl surprise. Captain Hartstnm preaching! It was beyond belief. The captain himself seemed awkwardly sensible of his position, and walked forwards. He became more thought- ful; sighed once or twice, and look -moodily down into the sea. Walter Strong stood near hi , heard his sighs, wonderedl what it meant, and offered in his heart a prayer to God for the captain's soul. He felt inclined to speak to the captain, and looked about for some subject of remark. A ship was still in sight that had borne them company sineo the previous evening. 'For the want of something else to talk about, he spoke of it. Captain,i" he said, nodding his good-morning as the captain turned towards him, "we're gaining fast on yonder vessel." The captain, without answering, looked in the direc- tion indicated. Hisfirst indifferent glance was exchanged page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 "'TI-E JULIA." for one of earnest scrutiny. Then, without speaking a word, he took his glass and examie te distant slip through it. "Humph!," ile said at last. "Shle took the wrong tack, lost the lywind, and changed her course."' The missionary had taken the glass and was looking at the vessel himself, when the captain surprised him by a most unexpected nmoral appelnded to his o wn observation. "Mr. Strong," and he waited till lthat gentlemnan lai down the glass aid looked him full in the face, and the spoke out like a man, "'e all sometimes get on a wrong tack, and the best tlhing we then can cdo, is to change our " ourse." "Certainly, said Mr. Stroi g, dubious, nevertheless' of the 'application of this sententious remark. ' Wel, sir, what I want to say is this. I've been on a wrong tack all my life, and I wa'nt to chancge imy courlse. The wind of heaven won't fill a'nan's sail unless he steers right for heaven and so, sir, I've been drifting away "further and further firom right and duty, and the wonder is, that I have n't gOne down long since to death and destruction., Mr. Strong could hardly believe his ears, He could say nothing, for he did not know what to say. The cap- tain did not seem to mind his silence, but went on. "'Mr. Strong, I took a wrong tack when you mission- aries came aboard my brig. I wouldn't let you have preaching on deck, nor allow .you to talk to the men. Now, sir, you seB I took the very course to lose the wind God in mercy sent to carry us homewlrd'. Understand?, I believe I do,!, said Mr'. Strong, eagerly. "Well, sir, I'm going to veer' about. Turn the ship's head--put on all .sail-and bear away, for-if I miay say *a awy \b-fIIa w STEADY WINDS. 129 so, sir,"-and the captain's voice sunk to a tone of rever- ence-" for God and heaven." Mr. Strong grasped his hand. "Come," he said, "I hear the prayer bell; come with us." The captain followed mechanically. The passengers assembled in the cabin for w'orslip could not help the interchange of wondering and congratulatory glances, when the captain took his place among them. Bertie was the only one to give expression to his feeling. He leaped to his father's knee and clasped his arms about his neck. The captain bending over his son, hid his face from observation. But Bertie felt a teair roll down his cheek that did not come from his own eye. When prayers were over, the captain advancing to the head of the table, addressed his passengers in a few words, plainly spoken: "I'm a rough man. Perhaps I've been rude, when I did n't mean to be. I ask pardon. But what I want to say is, that the regulations of the Julia are from this day altered; and if any of you, gentlemen or ladies, want to speak to my poor sailors about their souls, on deck or in fbrecastle-so that the management of the ship is n't interfered with-please do so. To-day is Sunday, and as the weather permits, and if you consent, we'll have service on deck. That's all, only"-and his voice sunk- "please pray for me and my lnen." Not a word was spoken as the captain left the cabin, only Mrs. De Seiple caught his hand in passing, and looked up into his face with a grateful, hopeiul expression that conveyed a volume of meaning to the captain's heart; and when he had gone, Walter Strong said, "Let us: pray;" and poured out thanksgiving to God for this new instance of the answer to prayer; and besought, with 6* i page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 'THiE JULTA." earnest entreaty, life and salvation for the captain's soul. There was service on deck that day. All hands that could be spared, in their best rig, attended. Wonder- ment upon every countenance showed how unused all were to such services. Walter Strong preached the ser- mon-short, simple, direct, fervent. It made its impres- sion. The subdued tone of conversation on board dutring the rest of that holy day, showed that Something out of the common course had happened. The missionaries were not slow to avail thellselves of the new facilities conceded to them. They talked with the men as opportunity afforded. Already they had gained good will, by quiet and inoffensive deportment, and by many occasional acts of kindness. And now their affability won the confidence of the rough sons of Nep- tune. Especially Walter Strong and Mrs. De Seiple became favorites. And even Jasper Kase tried not to swear-out of respect to the lady, who had her own way of gaining access to the hardest hearts. Steady and strong blew the wind. The Julia made good progress. Bright and cheerful shone the sky above. Bright and cheerful were the hearts on board. The captain had changed his course, let out sail and caught the wind to good purpose. But it is a long voyage-whether it be the voyage of life, or only the voyage to India. Who can tell what will happen yet! --what storms and tempests!-what calms and delays! Who shall be lost? And who shall reach the haven? God knows. XIII. lHE strong man, the h adstronll sinner, prostrate befIore God, in self-abaSeentt! Who that has wit- nessed i has not been imlp essed with the sense of that Scripture phrase, "The striving of God's Spirit"? Coming as the wind comes, thou knowest not whence or whither, came the power of God on-the officers, on the crew, n an f t uia; on the passe rsmissionaries, moving them to self-examination' and to prayers, with groanings unutterable on Captain John Hartsum, on Jasper Kase, the mate; on burly Big Tom and sick Jack, the ocean-hardened tars, moving them to ask with pain- ful entreaty, "Men and beren, what must we do? The Julia lay on the waters like " a thing of beauty," in those becalming latitudes- near the equator, where ennui holds eternal reign; where shipmates grow listless and fretful by turns; and, from the captain, taking lazy observations, to the sailors stitching sail cloth under awn- ings, all are languidly wishings for a wind, a tempest, a hurricane, anything but this dead, depessing calm. It was not thus, however, on board the Julia. Not one impatient word was spoken, not one idle wish fr f - in breezes was uttered. All were busy, most busy when most silent and abstracted, with their own tlhoghts, their own prayers. Beside the sewing sailos lay littl ^(A3 page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 "TrlE JULIA." tracts, convenienh t to the land, and oftel glanced at. On the captain's knee lay that best of charlts, an open Bible. And the missionary 1)assengers hummed sweet hymns, as they walked apart or spoke together in low and earnest voices of God and His truth. The sky was hot and cloudless. The sea was hot and waveless. The ship was Iot and often motionless. But the intense heat and tiresome mootony t t w forgotten in the burning fire and spiritual agitations within. The sensible world was hardly remarked upon; the hot sun unfelt; the slow progress undeplored. The still, small voice that speaks to the conscience filled every thought. God was there. And a1 were conscious of His presence. Ieow it had begun were difficult to say. It ws sud- den, silent and without observation. From the memo- table Sunday when the captain took his place at family worship, and called all hands to service on deck, a some- thing unusual v was perceptible on board the Julia. A religious sensibility became manifest. Then God's pres. ence was felt, was known. There was nonoise, no outcry. It was wonderful that sailors could be so quiet. explicable only by referring it to His power, who spake once to the raging sea and tempest, "Peace, be still!, , and "there was a great calm,', Noiselessly the missionaries passed to and fro, distributIng tracts and Bibles. S oftly were words of inquiry and words of instruction spokn. Pray- ers were offered in subdued tones; the sermons preached, solemn, earnest, impassioned, were also deeply quiet, reverently free froim mere words and gestures of ekcite- nent? All was like the passion that speaks and weepsby t dying bed side, so under-toned and imppressively still. But there came .: chtange. Captain H:artsum called all : BECALMED. 133 hands together one beautiful evening, and said, in effect, I, a sinner, glory now in the name of Christian!" Sick John, in the forecastle, woke up his comrades one night by shouting "Hosanna!" Jasper Kase, the mate, aston- ished all, by breaking forth one Sabbath day in a public prayer, in which his whole heart was uttered, with such breaking penitence, exulting thankfulness, yearningcdesire, as never man there had heard before. And Big Tom became as a little child, and went weeping to Sweeny, to ask his parlon for past ill usage, which Sweeny would. rather he had not done, and did not know how properly to resent. Thus, ere the Julia had passed beyond the charmed latitudes of calms and fluctuating winds, and fell once more into the swift and steady currents of the trades, every soul on board gloried in. the name of Christ, save one, and that one the curious, angry-tempered, vindictive sailor-boy Sweeny White, who felt, but did not under- stand; suffered, but would not believe. Gloria Deo.* "Captain, how did it come about?" "I can't just say how it was, Mr. Strong; only it did come, bless God!" "Ina your own case, I mean, captain?" "You want me to tell my ' experience,' as the Metho- dists say?" and the captain smiled. ' Exactly." "I'1. try. I'll have to go back to my childhood, * In "Life in India," by Rev. John W. PIulles, published by tlhe American Sunday School Union, may be found the narrative of a work of grace on shipboard very similar to that related above. Since this was written, the missionary clipper, "The Morning Star," has witnessed a "revival" at sea, equally wonderful. w , . page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 Ti TII JUJLIA.." though, I'm thinking. If there's any good in me, I guess my old mother's at the bottom of it. If my mother was n't a Christian woman, Mr. Strong, it was n't for want of trying to be; and she tried to build me after a decent Christian model. But somehow I would n't take the rig, and she did n't understand how to humor such a crazy, stubborn sort of craft as I was. Fact was, mother had that same old Adam of a temper that I got from her, and she hadn't the best of judg- ments about matters; and between her temper and her lack of knowledge and wisdom, she rather set me against religion, just by harping for ever about it, and trying to scold me into it, 'and taking to crying and going to the minister and folks to get them to cry with her whenever I did anything particularly wrong. She cried worst of all because I would be a sailor. Fact was, I always wanted to be a sailor, was made for one, as they say; and then I wanted to get away from mother for, (though I always loved her, mark that, Mr. Stlrong! I say I always loved and honored my mother ;) yet, between her temper and her scolding me into religion, I was n't just happy in her company; so I was glad to go to sea, espe- cially as I could do as much other ways for her support' and comfort as if I stayed on land. You see, Mr. Strong, there is n't one vessel out of a hundred-and I've sailed on many a one-that's like this Julia. She'll always mind her helm; do anything you want her to, from riding a sea like a swan on a purling river, without seeming to hear the winds or feel the waves; to going along steady and fair, almost without any wind at all, like that gull there, that makes a wind for himself: Ships have a good deal of human nature in them, Mr. Strong; and there ain't one man or woman in a hundred that don't need BEr cx Al ED. 135 humoring and managing like-tlakin in i a reef, or letting out all sail-jus t athe most unreasonable times. All folks aren't like you and Mrs. De Seiple. You, and she, and my Bertie, are most as good as the Julia herself- always trim and ready. But I was n't, and that my good mother did n't understand. She wanted meto sail straight ahead in all weathers, and lost patience if I did n't. Well, that's neither here nor there. What I wish to say is, that I guess my old mother's talking, if it did anger me, put something into my feelings that sort of inclined me to religion after all. Then she made me learn the catechism and hymns; and I never could forget them, though I've tried to. Often and often the old words have come back to me, just as if some one had spoken them in my ear. I suppose you would say, she planted the seed of truth in my soul which God now has made grow. Dear mother how glad. she now, if she knows! She sent me word, before she died, that she would know if ever I became a Christian." The captain took a turn about deck. When he re- seated himself, Mr. Strong put him on the track again, by repeating his first question: "Captain how did it come about?" ' How it came about, first of all, as far as I know, was of hearing mother's old hymn of 'Loving-kindness." You in the cabin were singing it the second Sunday out. I heard the words of the first verse distinctly. I learned them when a child, and they came back to rae in a familiar, pleasant sort of way-seemed like the smell of land when one's been long at sea-brought back, you know, old feel- ings and recollections. Those words somehow stuck to my mind. I'd find myself repeating tlem over and over to myself, or humming the tune before I would know; so page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 ' T rEr J ULrIA:.", that I'd have to stop for fear some one would hear. After a while, I got to preaching little, bits of sermons to myself, out of that verse of ' Lovilng-kindness.' Perhaps mother used to talk ,to me so; I'm not sure she did n't. Any way, I preached so to myself; without meaning to, either, and sometimes without mwanting to. But I could n't help it. "While we stayed at Madeira, I liked to have forgot the hymn for good. I was too busy to tlink much, and didn't see so much of you missionaries. But the very day we left, I got the letter telling of mother's death, and sending me her last words. That put me upon trying to be ^ood. ] gave over swrearing some, and tried to check the, men. The words of the hymn came back to me, and I begnll to like to say them. At, last. I fancied myself getting to be quite a Christilan nman--as good ass any of you--tlolgh I did nt profess to be. Yet once and awhile I would[ swear a bit--and never thought of pra.- ing-and was ashalmed to attend worship in the cabin though I longed, to. ' "Things Avent on so for some time, when one eveningo Bertie and I had a talk, and that child made it out as plain as could be, that I was no Christian. He did 1not mean it; and did n't know how: I took it; but so it was. After that I had n't much comfort in saying over the words of Loving- kindness, and began to think it was not for such as nme to sing that hymn at all. Then it was, I suppose, I 1eoganl to be what they call 'serious.' I invited you to 1 have Sunday services, a nd used to take my place with you at morning and evening prayer, and took to reading the Bible, and did gyive up profanity. Ancd so matters worl ke on till that heavenly calm fell on us all-on sky, water, ship, passengers, officers and crew. To me it seemed as RBECALMED. 137 if ' Mv Great Redeemer' was indeed present. A sort of ! terror took hold of me. It seemed as if some virtue came directly from Himn and spell-bound me. I felt like those soldiers who went to Jesus to take him prisoner, r and fell down to the ground before him and became as dead men and could n't give any reason for it either. But by degrees the strange feelings passed off. I seemed to hear the Saviour saying, or to linow that He would say, if He should speak, ' Peace, thy sins are forgiven thee,' and I began to say with more assurance ' My Great Rledeemer!. From that time to this I've thought oftener and preached i, to myself oftener about the last line of that verse than ; any other; ' His lovingz-kindcness, O how free! s "That's the way it came about, Mr. Strong, as near as I can tell. Bless God it did come! And may He grant that I never cease to love to sing that hymn." The captain ended by softly singing the hymn itself: . Mr. Strong sang nwith him. The missionaries took it up. Jasper Kase added, with good effect, a mellifluous voice.,i Ilig Tom broke- in more vociferously than musically. Bertie's head appeared above the cabin g-ang-way, andl his child's voice mingled with the rest. Sick Jack crept up fron the forecastle and added his mite to the volume of sound. Every one on board was singing except1 Sweeny. He looked aro-und at first with an angry scowl of mockery, buit before the hynmn was through there was, something like a tear-drop on his cheek. And as they sung a gentle bre-eze sprung up and filled the flapping sails-one could almost think it was the rustling of angel wings as heavenly choirs came to listen to that song of Zion. The golden cross shone down upon them from theI southern heavens, and the Julia sped onward to India, I - page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 138 "THE JULIA."' ,arrying with her the music and the meaning of those rords, "AWAKE, my soul, to joyful lays, And sing thly great Redeemer's praise; He justly claims a song from thee, His loving-kindness, O! how free I He saw me ruined in the fall, Yet loved me notwithstanding all; He saved me from my lost estate, His loving-kindness, O! how great! Though numerous hosts of mighty foes, Though earth and hell my way oppose, He safely leads my soul along, His loving-kindness, O how strong I When trouble, like a gloomy cloud, 'Has gathered thick and thundered loud, He near my soul has always stood, His loving-kindness. O! how good! ,Often I feel my sinful heart. Prone from my Saviour to depart; :But though I oft have him forgot, His loving-kindness changes not. Soon shall I pass the gloomy vale, Soon all my mortal powers must fail; OC may my last expiring breath, His loving-kindness sing in death. Then let me mount and soar away To the bright world of endless day, And sing, with rapture and surprise, His loving-kindness in the skies." XIV. THE Julia had reached that part of the Indian Ocean which washes the coast of Madras upon the west, and on the east a group of Islands that stretch far northward from Sumatra . For four days not a breath of air had stirred the sails that drooped like the tired pinions of a bird from gaff and spur. Notwithstanding the calm, the brig was not motionless, but borne bycurrents which baffled all the seamanslip on 'board to explain, she drifted with a vari- able velocity to the eastward. ' " Eight bells broke the hush of that hot afternoon, and. j with a listless air the watch relieved from duty sought out places for repose. The air was stifling. Dr. De Seiple could not rouse himself enough to con his Sanscrit grammar, and sat gazing vacantly at the ocean, and a temporary " stopper," to borrow the words of Big Tom, had been " clapped" even upon Mr. James' tongue. "Dull music this," said Captain Hartsum, as he emerg- ed from the companionway to relieve his mate. "Very," answered the doctor. "Any sign of a change, Captain?" "Not a sign," said the commander, and here the dia- logue ended. (139)' page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O "THE JULIA."' Indeed, all the little energy on board seemed now con- centrated in one earnest longing for the moment when the sun would dip his hot face in the sea, and suffer the scorched decks to cool off in the niht air. Two weary hours passed, and now that moment had come; a long' line of golden light shot across to the Julia-and the sun was down. Hardly had the glare vanished from the ocean, when Mr. Jamnes was startled by the captain's springing into the rigging and gazing intently at tle southern horizon'. "What do you see?, said Mr. James. Captain Hartsum deigned no reply; but leaving the missionary in doubt, whether he had been attracted by the sea-serpent or a, mermnid, he stole a glance at the barom- eter and resumed his post of observation. In another instant he was on deck. "Call all hands, Mr. Wilson," said the commander, in a grave, quick voice, to the officer in charge. "Aye aye, sir!" returns the mate, and the order had scarcely been given before every man was at his station. Indeed, there was no time to lose, even a landsman might see in the southwest a narrow belt of yellowish lurid light, stretching rapidly north and south, and climb- ing with fearful speed towards the zenith. The Julia, a moment before so quiet, was now all astir. The crew sprang aloft with incredible agility, and the piles of snowy canvas disappeared as by magic under reef-point and gasket. Quick orders and responses ming- led with the rattling of blocks and the creaking of yards. At length all was ready, the blocks ceased to rattle, the yards were braced, the hatches battened down, and every- thing made snug. The brig lay broadside to the approaching tempest, but IN DANGEt. 141 as yet not a breath was felt, not a sound was heard. Big Tom was at the wheel, and the men stood in groups about the deck watching the onset of the storm. Pres- ently a low, heavy roar broke upon the ear, and at the same moment, on the verge of the horizon a slight thread of foam appeared and swept on towards the brig with tremendous velocity. Hardly had the captain's quick glance fore and aft, alow and aloft, reassured him that everything was ready, when the hurricane struck them. The blow was terrific. The brig fell over before it like an egg shell. "Helm a lee! hard up!" shouted the captain, above the roar of the storm. "Ielm a lee-it is, sir!" echoed Big Tom, and the Julia righted and fell off before the gale like a bird. H-ardly a stitch of canvas had been left unfurled, for tlhe captain had rightly judged that the only chance of safety lay in scudding under bare poles; but with even the slight resistance offered by her spars and rigging, such was the violence of the wind that the vessel seemed to fly over the waters. The short twilight of the tropics had well nigh passed, but the whole heavens were still lurid with that weird light that had first caught the captain's attention on the horizon. Not a drop of rain had fallen, but the air was filled with the fine showery spray which sailors call spoon- drift, that gave the scene a wild and unusual aspect. The sea was not high, the waves seemed by the very force of the wind to be beaten down and chopped into foam rather than piled up in huge waves, and every sea that struck the brig flew over her in a sheet of fire. Bertie and the missionaries had taken refuge in the cabin just in time to escape the storm, and now sat listen- page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 4 ' rrHE JULIA." king to the rush and the roar above and around them, in the dark, for no one had cared to light the lamp'; .yet it was not dark, the cabin was filled with a strange light that streamed into itswindows-the combined effect of the sky and plloslphorescent sea. No one spoke; all were awed into silence. Poor Mrs. James lay helpless in her lberth, her heart beating faster than the seas against the Julia's sides. The color hlad left Mrs. De Seiple's cheek, and sshe held Bertie's hand with a strong grasp. MAr. James, after divers despelate but vaii attempts to do something for the general wel- fare, had settled. himself as near as he eould to his sicker half, and close to' M1. and Mrs. Small, who, clinging to each other and the stanclions, were Idoing'their best to seem composed. "D. De Seiple," asked Bertie, "do you think we are in danger?") "Not in great danger, I hope," answered the mission- ary. "Captain Hartsumn says the Julia is an excellent sea boat, and I doubt not his preparationls w eiere all conlpleted before the gale struck us; a good vessel has little to feal in an open sea. But my boy, though the storm is terri- ble, whatever the danger, we may safely trust ourselves in our Fathers hands." There was silence again. The oar ofthe tel pest con- tinued. Mrs. De Seiple drew Bertie closer to her, and even Mr. Janes' heart beat slower as Walter Strong, in a sweet, clear voice, uttered the wordls: "The floods have lifted, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their waves. The Lord orn high is mightier than the - noise of" many waters; yea, ,than the miglty waves of the sea. The Lord sitteth upon the flood; yea, the Lord sitteth king forever. The Lord will give IN DANGER. "3 strength to his people;. the Lord will bless his people with peace." In a few hours the character of the storm had mate- rially changed. The wind, though somewhat abated in its force, had hauled around several points to. the westward, and still blew a gale. The lurid light had departed, and the sky was overspread with heavy black clouds from which- the rain fell at intervals in torrents. The sea, meantime, had got up, and the Julia, though as Captain Hartsum said, behaving beautififully, seemed to the missionaries to pitch with fearful violence. With the change of wind came also a change in the electrical state of the atmosphere. The lightning, though not frequent, was intensely vivi d, lighting up the sea with the brilliancy of day; and the thunder seemedc sometimes like the crash of' a thousand burning roofs, and again like the explosion of heavy artillery. Thus the wild night wore on. Though little could be done, not .n man left the deck. Every flash discovered thestalwart form of Big Tom, lashed fast, and toiling' at the wheel, and Captain Hartsuin and his rlmate grasping the back- stays on either hand. Sweeny lhad crept forward, and peered uwith his keen eye into the impenetrable darkness, when suddenly from a dozen'voices at once rose the ap- palling cry, ' Breakers ahead! Breakers on the weather bow! Breakers on the lee bow!' A vivid flash of lightning revealed to them at a glance that the brig was, in nautical language, ( embayed.7 A low reef of rocks lay directly bethore them, and curving gently outward, terminated in rocky headllands on either side. The brig's position 'was a surprise to Captain Hartsum, and to mnost men would have been emnbarrass- ing. The surprise he quickly explained. Those treach- page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 "'THE JULIA." erous currents had carried her many miles east of her true course. But what was to be done. If she held her course five minutes longer she would be thumping to pieces on the reef before him. To wear ship was impos- sible. To tack and make sail, in order to claw off and gain the offing, seemed almost certain destruction. But the captain's mind was made up in less time than we have taken to present his perplexities; and the older to shake a reef from the topsails and put the brig about was thundered forth in a voice that outhowled the hoarse tempest itself; and the brig turned gracefully up into the wind, and slid past the low coast within almost an oar's length of the reef. But the dalnger was far from over. The brig had es- caped the red could she keep off from it? Could she weather the headland? This was a more serious ques- tion. For every foot she went ahead she run nearer and nearer the quarter whence the wind blew, and even if she made no lee way at all, she could not possibly round the cape without hauling her comi se every moment closer to the wind. Moreover, the gale itself rwas now at its worst, and as the coast was all unknown, they could pick their way only by the aid of the lightning. It soon became evident that the brig had perceptibly approached the shore. It seemed madness to spread more canvas in such a tempest, but there was no other course left, and the order to shake out another reef was given. The stout-hearted seamen sprang aloft to execute the perilous, order, and Sweeny White's was the first foot on the man ropes. But scarcely were the reef points loosed before 'the sail blew from the bolt ropes with a sound like a cannon, and the Julia began to drift in towards the reef. IN DANGER. 145 "Stand by to clear away the anchor," shouted the captain. "Let go!" "Aye aye, sir!" responded the men, and in another moment the sea made a clear sweep over the bow of the little brig as she rode at anchor. Happily just at this point the reef receded some hundred yards, or even this manceuvre would have been ineffectual. It was a temporary, but only a temporary, relief. If she did not drag her anchor, Captain Hartsum was too good a sailor not to know that the hawser could not long stand the severe chafing on the rocks it was then under- going, and immediately directed a new topsail, to be bent upon the yards. This was speedily accomplished. To attempt getting the anchor at such a time would have been folly; accordingly, slipping her cable, the little craft bore gallantly up again for the final trial of life or death. It was a moment of intense anxiety. The headland could not be more than a mile distant; in ten minutes they would weather it or be dashed to atoms against, it. Captain Hartsum himself assisted the brave tar at the wheel. The men stood breathless. at their posts. So far all went well, but the last minute was the one of trial. Could mast and spar bear the enormous strain? All that human skill and power could do had been done, and they must await the issue. The little vessel quivered as if alive, under the ponderous blows of the seas, but she held her course. The- sea rolled in and burst with terrible force upon the headland, covering the cliff with phosphorescent foam. "Steady now!" said Captain Iartsum. ' Steady it is, sir!" responded Big Tom, and the next instant the Julia shot like an arrow past the headland into the open'sea. 7 page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 "THE JULIA." "Misfortunes never come singly," says the proverb; we have often observed that they go away together. Not an hour elapsed after passing the cape, before the gale gave evident symptoms that it had spent its force: and when on the following nmorning Dr. De Seiple saw the sun break forth in glory through the masses of clouds that were rolling away to leeward like the squadrons of a retreating army, the Julia was dashing along under a spanking breeze, with as rolicking an air as if nothing had happened. The occasion afforded another opportunity to Mr. James, an opportunity he- was never known to let slip, of repeating, for the hundredth time, his very original observation, that the "Julia was a very remarkable brig!" x , . *' X V. HANNAH HARTSUM, in the front basement room, with sleeves rolled up, reading' a letter, would have been an admirable subject for a picture 1etitldc "Mystifi- cation," or "' The Surprising Letter," or ' [In a Maze." She uttered no words; she had no need of them; not a single interjection would have been pertinent to the state of her feelings-in truth, she had no feelings. If thoughts were types, her mind was knocked into pi. It was some- time before her ideas got back into intellighle Englisih. When Sally, astonished at her long absence from the wash-tub, came in search of her, she found her darning stockings with her sleeves still rolled up. .Mr s. Hartsum had quite, and for the first time in her life, forgotten that it was washing-day. She soon after startled Sally by bid- ding her look for soap in the church; and again, by directing her to go to the Rev. Mr. Foster and buy starch, Which she immediately corrected by telling her to get a pew at the grocery store. The immediate cause of Mrs. Hartsum's confusion of ideas and mral-apropos directions was made manifest the next day, when she transferred the letter, without a word of comment, to the hands of her daughters. They read as follows: (147) page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 "CTHE JULIA." CALCUTTA,- - -, 18-. "DEAR HANNAH,-Your letter was here when we ar- rived. The first sentence made. me smile: it's so differ- ent from the truth. You say you are glad I am rid of the missionaries, &c. Bless God, dear Hannah, I love the missionaries now. I hope I may call myself without presumption a Christian. As I am no letter- writer, I can't tell you just how it was. But when I get home, if God permits, I hope we will have many a talk about it. What distresses me most is, that dear old mother can't know it: that is, that she could not know it before she died. What she said was comforting. Han- nah, I want you to take a pew in Mr. Foster's church, and go there: you and the girls, every Sunday; and Sally, too, take. her with you, lock up house and go, all. This do as you love your unworthy husband. I have told nothing about Bertie. He is famous well. And all the ship got to loving him as well as we, almost, if that's possible. No more at present from your humble and affectionate husband. JOHN HAnTSUvI. P. S.-Dear Hannah, don't worry .about my getting religion as if it was going to make mhe one of the scold- ing sort, like poor, dear granny. I guess it was n't religion made her so, but nature, that bad total-depravity nature we've all got; I miss my reckoning if I aint a better husband than ever. I have been a poor enough one. And better father too. Second P. S.-I forgot to tell you how happy I am. My men say, (you know what they used to say about my having two faces,) I have only one face now. Love to all." "Mother, do you really intend to take a pew?" asked Fanny Hartsum. FAMLY MATTERS. 149 "Your father says so," was the brief answer. "And must we go to church, every Sundaty? "' So he says," was the short response. ' It will be dreadfully stupid!" said Fanny, pettishly. "I think I'll like it," said Cleopatra. "You are a child, and want to show your new mourn- ing," was the sisterly rejoinder. ' 'Tis n't that, either,!" pouted Cleopatra. "Miss' sartsum," called out Sally, putting her head into the room, while her body remained in the kitchen, "cari't- Fanny come and help knead the bread, or some- thing. I'll never get through the work." "I am going out," responded Fanny. "Let me help. I'd like to," said Cle' and flew off into the kitchen. Fanny, equipped for a walk, seemed in no hurry about it. She stood by the basement window, looking out (always in one direction) for fifteen minutes at least. At length, with a haste remarkable; after so much idling,: she darted out of the house. Cle'," called Mrs. Hartsum, a moment after, "Cle', come here, quick. Who's that with our Fanny?" Sally had answered the call as briskly as Cle', and tak- ing possession of one whole window, while Mrs. Hartsum and Cle' occupied the other, was the first to give the desired information. "Why, Miss' Hartsum, don't you know long Sandy Forkes, Tatnal?s clerk? I thought curus how .'s Fanny 's allers ready to go to Tatnals, and nary nother errand will she do. Guess Sandy's her beau." And with that sage conclusion, Sally marched back to the kitchen. Cleopatra maintained her post at the window till Fanny and Mr. Forkes were out of sight. Then with a face page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 !"'T JuLIA.' ": 150 "THE JULIA." bright with the glow of excitement at the discovery, she went dancing back into the kitchen. A half-hour passed before she agail appeared in the front room. "Mother, have you got to mend all those stockings?, she asked, as she observed the pile on the table. "Yes." "Let me help you. I do like to darn stockings." And taking her seat at once, she began her work without ceasing hertalking. "I can't help thinking about Fanny. I never thought of such a thing. Only to think of her having a. beau. ]o you really think he is her beau, mother?" "How should I know. Fanny never told me." "Well, I hope he is. It would be so nice. I wonder where they can be .going: perhaps to the Battery, or to Hoboken. Oh no, I guess it's Greenwood." "Fanny would have told me, or ought to," remarked *Mrs. Hartsum, while a shadow of motherly concern passed over her quiet, handsome face. "Oh! perhap]s she forgot, or did not mean to go. any- where when she left home. She may have met him only by accident, you know." Mrs. Hartsum knew better. Fanny was not standing at the window so long for nothing. But if they are going anywhere, they've got a fine afternoon for it. Won't they enjoy it? I am so glad they have, that is if they have." "Suppose Fanny had stayed at home and darned stock- ings, and you had gone out to walk," suggested the mother. "Oh! I like to darn stockings, and Fanny don't; and then there's Mr. Foi-kes, you know." The mother leaned over and kissed Cle'. This was a thing so unusuaL in the undemonstrative mother that Cle' could not help asking: FAMLY MATTERS. 151 "What did you do that for, mother? "You are such a good little fool,", was the enigmatical reply. And Cle', not knowing how to understand it, colored up to the roots of her hair. 'Come," said Mrs. Hartsum, rising suddenly, "let's you and I take a -walk together." "Oh! that will be pleasant ;" and Cle' was all alacrity. Mrs. Hartsum never went out of the house, except upon special business. Cle', therefore, was not" surprised when told that her present object was to do a little shopping at Tatnal's.' Mr. Tatnal's store was a busy retail dry goods store in Greenwich Street, neither large nor grand, where the neighboring families chaffered over their pur- 'chases with Mr. Tatnal himself; or his three clerks, in much the same fashion that olle is used to in country stores. Mrs. Hartsum Walked directly to the counter where Mr. Tatnal stood, and began examining and pricing the silks upon it, without regarding Cle's whispered inquiry, "What she could want of colored silks when they were all in mourning? '"Mr. Forkes usually waits on me," remrarked Mrs. Inartsun, "I don't see him to-day ;" looking round. "NTo, lie asked a half-holiday,9' answered Mr. Tatnal. "Fine young man, Mr. Forkes, Mr. Tatnal?" "Very. Has been with me two years. Never found him in a fault. Not terribly bright, you know. Might be smarter. But trustworthy. He lives in my family, Mrs. Iartsum, and I ought to know." "Not a New Yorker," remarked Mrs. Hartsum, with- out taking her eyes or hands off the silk, which she con- tinued to examine, apparently paying little attention to Mr. Tatnal, whose habit it was to talk on any subject page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 'TII u JULIA. " suggested, by way of keeping his customers longer in the store. "No, ma'amr. Ile's country-bred. Father a farmer, in a small way. Honest, respectable man, but large family. So Alexander takes care of himself. Now, that I call a beautiful silk. It will suit you." "Not exactly. Good-bye, sir." "Good-day,:" responded Mr. Tatnal, with some aston- ishment in his face, for Mrs. Hartsum was rarely known. to enter the shop to make a purchase and leave without doing so. "Mother, what did you want of those silks?" asked she', when they had regained the street. "I did n't." "What did you look at them then for, and price them?" "Can't you guess?" "Was it to hear what he would say about Mr. Forkes?" asked the unsuspicious Cleopatra, after a moment's thought. "It was." "Well, I never should have suspected. But wasn't all he said about him good?" "So, so. But Fanny ought not to have gone to spend the whole afternoon without telling me. I must speak to her." "Let me speak, mother, may n't I?" "Yes." "And I may tell her she can go again with Mr. Forkes if she chooses, if she only tells you first?" "Yes." "But where are you going now; mother? 9 ' To see about that pew." FAMLY MATTERS. 153 * Oh!" And so the afternoon's walk accomplished two purposes. One, that Mr. Forkes might be Fanny's beau. The other, the renting of a pew in the church of which Mr. Foster as pastor. The very next Sunday the family occupied that pew; and Sandy Forkes intercepted Fanny at the door of the church and escorted her home. 7* * 6 page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] XVI. THE Julia, weather-beaten, sea-stained, came creeping up the bay in tow of a steam-tug, to her old home- moorings at Pier No. 10. The news of her arrival at Quarantine had been an- nounced in the morning. Hannah Hartsum did not re- ceive the intelligence with unalloyed delight. She was a prey to conflicting feelings, the eagerness to see her dar- ling boy and well-loved husband struiggling with the dread that the religious change in the latter might either make him disagreeable to her, or herself disagreeable to him. She nervously wished the first meeting was over, that she might know just what that mysterious change was, and how it was likely to affect her future life. The edge of her expectation was blunted by Bertie's arrival, early in the afternoon, to take possession of every thought of hei' mother's heart. Bertie came back, not a sick boy, such as he was when he left home, eighteen months ago, bu t a strong, lusty fellow, more than eighteen months larger and older than when they last saw him. Bertie talked, talked, talked; and they never tired listen- ing, because it was Bertie, talking; anything from his lips, sense or nonsense, new or old, was acceptable; even Sally could not stay out of the room, but kept running in just to take a look at him, and running out again would stop at the kitchen door to ask him to please speak a little (15L4)- ' ,' , - '.. TloME AGAIN. ivo louder so that she could hear his voice at least, if she did n't kow what'he was " a saying." Fanny alone mani- fested symptoms of weariness; he was forever talking about the missionaries, she complained; one would think he had seen no one but missionaries; heard of nothing but missionaries; and when would father come, she wondered. It was late in the evening before her father made his appearance. Hannah was conscious of being a, bit reserved and unlike her usual self, in her greetings to her husband, but his were so like what they always had been, that she soon recovered her own natural manners. For all that appeared that evening, Captain, Jack Hartsuml was the same lie ever had been when in his family. * Cleopatra was at once established in her. old place on her father's knee, though lie pretended to think her too heavy a burden and declared that she was fatter, rosier, and more good-natured than ever. He twitted, Fanny upon having suddenly out-blown into an attempt at fine-lady- ship, which Fanny resented .with becoming dignity, and secretly wished her father was not " so -ough." But Fanny was mindful of the presence of a stranger in their family circle. Captain Hartsum had not come alone. A boyish-look- ing young man, who might have been sixteen or twenty, if judged by appearances, with very yellow face, yellower hair and blue eyes, sat silent and glum in the corner once occupied by Granny, overlooked and forgotten amidst the excitement of this first evening at home by all save Fanny, who nevertheless treated him with wilful neglect. It was Sweeny White. "John, what did you bring that chap here for?" asked Mrs. Hartsum, when Bertie and Sweeny had. retired. \ page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 !"TIE JULIA." / * I ' Bertie took a fancy to limn," was the satisfactory re- ply: satisfactory at least to the mother. Fanny was not so easily appeased. She could not see how Bertie could like such an ill-favored fellow, or why they should en- courage him in such out-of-theb-way fancies. "He's a smart sailor," remarked the captain. "A leetle cross-grained, but good stuff, for all." "I think I shall like him. How kind it was of him to kee p so still all this evening, and let us talk our own way," said Cleopatra. "Whom don't yozt lie e?" asked Fanny, contemptu- ously; and she shook out the skirt of her best dress, the effect of whiclh had been lost on the stranger, for whose benefit, before, seen, it had been put oni The subject of these remarks was at the same moment giving expression to his own private views of the family, in little explosive bursts of passion, up-stairs. "Bertie, I wish I had n't come home with you!" ' Why?" asked Bertie,' with very surprised eyes. ' Because they 'll all hate me.". ' Nonsense!" "Yes, they will. Your mother already wishes the house rid of me. And that oldest sister of yours thinks I'm not fit even to look at. And the very waiter girl avoided me." "Cle' will like you, any way. She likeseverybody and everything." "Does she? I don't care for my infinitesimal share of a universal admiration." Bertie saw his mistake, and was silent. "I'll go away to-morrow,", resumed Sweeny. "There's no use of my staying here to be angry all the time. I sha' n't have you any more, that 's clear, They want you all to themselves," H OME AGEAIN. 151 "Now, Sweeny," said Bertie, decidedly,. "it is nothing but your ugly, jealous temper. And you shall stay here just to get used to it, and learn how bad and foolish you are. What is a fellow to do who has been away from his mother and sisters so long? Shall he neglect them, or neglect a chap like you? No, indeed, you are not going away from here, and neither are you going to make me give you one word, one thought, one moment tlhat belongs of right to them. You shall just stay and fret and fume to see us happy, till you learn to be happy too. And so good night." And Bertie, half serious and half laughing, left Sweeny's room for his own. Captain Iartsum, always simple and honest, went straight ahead in religion, as in everything else. With true modesty, equally removed from affectation and from unnecessary precaution, he introduced those devotional hai its into his family to which they had been sadly unac- cuxstolmed. The first morning after his return, requesting breakfast to be delayed for the purpose, h6 read a chap- ter froml his mother's old Bible, and knelt down and gave thanks, and asked blessings in clear, strong, hearty words, words of his own, not the poor imitation of other men's prayers, nor the hackneyed phrases, as faulty as common, in which bad grammar and uncouth sense is perpetually t transmitted from one generation of prayer-makers to another. Hannah stiffly yielded to this innovation in domestic habits. Fanny pettishly pronounlced 'prayers a stupid bore. Cleopatra admiringly declared she liked them above all things. And Sally, in a sort of fiight, insisted for the twelve hours after that first prayer, that she re- garded it as " a warning; some of them would die, she knew; see if they would n't!" page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 T1 'TIE JULIA." Captain Hartsum was too much loved in his family, and was too strong in his own will, to fail in the ac- complishment of his purpose to conform the practice of his familyto tohe rules of a religious life.- Bertie delighted in the new order of things. Sweeny White was tamed and softened by it. And, save that Fanny had a crying spell because her father would not suffer her to take a iwalk on Sunday with Long Sandy Forkes, all the family seemed happier and better. Mr. Foster could have testified that a gentle and refining influence was at work in that household, which had already effected a change in their appearance and manners since he had first known them. Their neighbors said that they were growing proud. For six months Captain Hartsum knelt at the head of his family in daily prayer, graced the head of his pew in the church under Mr. Foster's care every Sunday, and attended upon all services of devotion, prayer-leetings, Bible classes, Sunday schools, with hungering, thirstingr desire to grow in grace and knowledge. Six months was a long respite from sea service. But it, came to an end. Again the Julia floated from her moorings; and beside the handsome sailor figure of Captain Jack, stood the slender, youthful form of his first mate, with the stereo- typed frown upon his brow, but a gleam of satisfaction and kindly feeling in the eye that once only flashed with anger,-Sweeny White, who, as an officer, proved a more amiable man than he ever could have been in a servile position. "Good-bye, Betrie," he said. "If I ever am made anything of, you must have 'all the credit of the mak- ing." "Pshaw! Sweeny, I am only a'boy and you are a man IIOME AGAIN. 159 already. Take good care of father, Sweeny," he added, in a low tone. Sweeny's look answered for him: a look in which ad- miration for that father was predominant. Bertie descended to the pilot's boat. The Julia dip- ped and rose and sprarg away like a bird of the sea, rejoicing to be once more free in her own boundless ocean. page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] l i XVII. THREE years had passed when the Julia was tele- graphed as again approaching her native harbor. There was joy in the tidings for the Hartsum family. The captain had promised that this should be his last voyage: he was coming homle for good, to employ his hard-earned property in some safe investment, and con- tented with the moderate competence Providence allowed, to spend the rest of his days amid[ scenes of domestic peace and felicity. Nor was this the only reason why the present return home was anticipated with peculiar pleasure. Two members of the family had personal mo- tives for exulting in it. Fanny, because the long-deferred day for uniting her destiny with that of Sandy Forkes might now be named. Bertie, because having attained the mature age of sixteen and over, he awaited his father's sanction to don the Virile toga, and transfer him- self from school and boy's work to any mercantile estab- lishment in need of such a masculine addition to its strength. Bertie forgot his own affairs, however,' when the Julia's arrival was announced, in the more immediate pleasure of seeing his father. That brave father, and Sweeny. too, how he longed to take them both by the hand! He (160) FLAG HALF-I.[ASTED. 161 stood on the dock watching for the Julia, where once a little girl had stood and watched the Julia as it bore him away to Eastern lands. Her heart had sunk with every wave that carried the brig farther onward on her voyage. His heart rose with every billow that swept the Julia nearer home. Far down the bay he saw her, and knew her when hardly a speck in size. No other craft moved on the waters like her. Each minute that made her out- line more distinct confirmed the correctness of his judg- 1ment. Wind and tide were in her favor; she needed no steam tug. Nearer and nearer she came, all sail on. Nearer and nearer, her prow ploughing the water; he sees the white foam. Nearer and nearer, her pennant is streaming in the wind. Nearer and nearer, the very men on deck are visible. He tries to recognize one form, but cannot make it out. There is Sweeny, no mistaking him, taller and stouter, to be sure, but it must be he, and he seems to be in command. Where is his father? Bertie can wait no longer; he is in a row-boat, in the middle of the river, at the Julia's side, clambering up to her deck. Sweeny, not his father, gives him the first warm grasp, and in answer to his questioning look, says: "He's only sick, Bertie; only sick. Be thankful that he has lived to see you all again." But Bertie, waiting not for the gratitude to come at bidding, is hurrying down the companion, in At the old familiar state-room, and finds his father. Oh! so changed! so very, very sick! Bertie tended his father as once that faither tended him, but not to the same end. The sickly boy, with youth on his side, grew well and strong. The sturdy seaman, past his prime, could not rally. He lingered foi weeks, growing weaker and fainter, fading away, dying. page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 "THrE JULIA." Hope and fear alternated, and when the end came, they were not ready for it. Fanny was married to Mr. Alexander Forkes. The wedding, contrary to original plans, and much to her dis- appointment, was very quiet and sober. Occupied with new cares, and removed to a new home, she was exempted from the care of the invalid. Cleopatra, too sanguine and joyous-hearted to antici- pate the sad end of this sickness, declared that she quite liked her father's being sick, it was so good to have hi in home all the time. She quite liked, too, she a little dump- ling of a young lady now, to have Mr. White to entertain and oppose with her universal likings, his almost as com- prehensive and more inveterate dislikings. They were opposites eve:ry way: in appearance, she short and fat; he tall and slender; and still more in character, she the quintescence of good-nature and slow of apprehen- sion, he quick, 'sharp, surley, satirical, vindictive. She delighted in his eccentricities (as she called his angry ex- plosions of bad temper and misanthropy,) as charming. He contemned her amiability as tame, mawkish and girl- ish. He tolerated her, and made himself obliging in doing her behests, only, he said, out of love to Bertie and regard to Captain Hartsum, who needed all the care that could be spared to him from the household duties of the others. So Sweeny became the man of all work, chopping wood for Sally, going to market for Mrs. Hart- sum, and escorting Cleopatra-to church, to shops, and to her sister's new lodging in the boarding house, a few squares distant from her old home. Mrs. Hartsumn and Bertie devoted themselves to the sick man. And those weeks of nursirig, the details of which would be most uninteresting to a stranger, treasured FL-AG HALF-MASTED. 163 up stores of precious words and incidents in the hearts of those two who loved as their life that husband and fatlher. Swleeny White was often the subject of conversation in that sick room. Captain Hartsum's cheel woTlud flush with unwonted color when lie told the praises of Bertie's once despised protegee. "As an officer," the captain said, "Sweeny is prompt, wise, efficient, and singularly just, and if severe in discipline, not without many grains of kindliness. His temper, in a subordinate condition, so quick and fiery, rarely vents itself on inferiors, while real or imnaginary assumptions of equals or superiors always chafes and galls him. But for his tender and filial care, through a dangerous fever in India, and a fearful relapse on the voyage home, I could never have lived to see you all again. He did double duty on deck, and was the most assiduous of nurses in the cabin: and if he ever owed anything to our family, we are now his debt- or. " Butthe captain grew too weak to talk. He appre- hended the approaching end of life more clearly than his friends did. Te was so uncomplaining and cheerftul that they failed to observe how rapidly he was passing away. The end came. There was a struggle as if all his manly energies rallied at the last moment in desperate resistance; there seemed, too, a spiritual contest, as well as physical, with the powers of death, for those who stood by the bedside saw with pain the old mask that had once been so fierce and terrible, closing over his handsome features, but it was 'only for a moment, a last outhreak of a sinful nature, the stern, ugly mask gradually dis- solved, the sweet smile reappeared upon his mouth, his eye gazed with unutterable affection on the loved ones page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 "THE JULIA." around him, he spoke a word of peace and hope in Jesus, the bitterness of death was passed, and he fell asleep. i Hannah Hartsum was a widow and Bertie was an or- phan, and they wept together. Cleopatra, too, was anll orphan, and- Sweeny White and the faithful Sally wept with her. Fanny Forkes was fatherless, and Sandy Forkes wept with her, wept because his dear Fanny wept. Hannah Hartsum was a widow and Bertie was an or- phan. A common loss had made theml dearer to each other. There is no affection like that between a good, sensible mother and a good, true-hearted boy. The mother has pride in her love and hopeful confidence, and expecting her son to become all that she can wish, she already treats him with something of that deference and gratified affection which would belong to him if her anticipations were already realized. And the boy feels unutterably rich and great in his mother's generous trustfulness; it makes a man of him to, have her lean upon his manliness, and yet he retains that best part of boyishness, the openness and ingenuousness that tells his mother everything he thinks, feels, and does. Hannah and her son were strength to each other. His piety helped her to look to the Rock that is higher than we, to become what her husband had so anxiously desired shel should be, a professed and seemingly sincere Christian. And Bertie was encouraged by his mother to feel that ie must be and could be the head and mainstay of the now fatherless family., Her reliance upon him made him sel- reliant. With such feelings and purposes, Egbert 'Iartsum entered the counting house of Munnypen & Co. as youngest clerk, and toiled there for the eighteen months that the Julia was again absent on the first voyage she FLAG HALF-MASTED. 165 had ever made without John Hartsum for her captain. The son would have liked to sail in her and grow up to take the command so sadly vacated. But his mother's wishes, and his father's respect for the wishes of " granny," his own early disregard of which preyed on hisconscience and made him morbidly sensitive in regard' to his son's compliance therewith, had long since determined the litter against a sailor's life; and now that he must be doilg something immediately serviceable to the family, the project of going to sea could not be entertained. The Julia, however, did not pass into the command of a stranger. She sailed under the command of Captain White, to be known henceforth as "Sweeny" only by the licence of intimacy and friendship. . . page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] XVIII. IjIGH TEEN years old, to-day, mother." ' t "And a handsome fellow for your years, Bertie." " Am I?" he asked, with innocent gratification, pleased that his mother was pleased, and attaching no importance to the fact oil his own account. It needed not a mother's partiality to see thatt lhe was very handsome, and promised to be handsomer yet. Like the son of Jesse, " he was but a youth, and ruddy, and of a fair countenance." He was tall and strong. The bloom of health was on his cheek, and youth and hope sparkled in his eye. Honesty was -written on his brow. Love and good humor played about his mouth, where, too, was an indication of that dangerous indeci- sion which is the result of an affectionate and obliging disposition rather than of an irresolute temper. "What if the Julia should come in to-day," exclaimed Cleopatra, '"would it not be a grand celebration of Bertie's birthday!" But the thought of the Julia's coming for the first time without him who had always made her coming welcome proved no enlivener. Egbert became thoughtful and abstracted, and soon rose from the dinner table to retuirn to his place of business. Still thinking of his father, who could not come to make his birthday pleasanter, he (166) { I THiE BIRTHDAY. 161 walked along, the crowded streets without observing what was going on around him, till he found himself entangled in a crowd in front of a fashionable stove. He was forced to stop. Wha t was the matter? A lady, t:ll and majestic, and richly attired, was passing from the store to her carriage; a bevy of young men bowed to her with bared hleads as if she were a goddess; and a motley collection of passers-by, such as is easily gathered in any thronged thoroulghfare, were gazing with wonder- ment at the lady's magnificence and the gentlemen's adoration. When the lady, seated in her carriage, turned to bow her thanks and 'adieu to the gentlemen, Egbert saw that 'her face was worthy of the stateliness of her form and the elegance of her dress; he thought, too, that he had seen that face before, but where he could not recollect. His gaze was returned; the lady was star- ing at him. She resented, he fancied, hs thoughtless effrontery, and coloring slightly, he'passed on. The car- riage went in the same direction. The confusion of vehicles obliged the driver to proceed slowly and close to ,the side walk. Egbert perceived with surprise that the lady had changed her seat from the back to the front of the, carriage and apparently for the purpose of looking at him, at least she was looking at him. He blushed again, and with the first touch of vanity he ,had ever felt, re- mcmbered his mother's words, "a handsome fellow for your years, Bertie." Personal vanity is a mean, a belit- tling vice; and Egbert felt ashamed of himself that he could derive pleasure from the poor power of attracting a lady's eyes; and as a sort of self-inflicted punishment, 'suggested at the moment by conscience, he resolved not to look again at that face so wonderful in its beauty, and therefore the more flattering to his self-conceit. The page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 "THE JULIA. ' carriage, he was aware, had stopped close beside him. But still he 'would not look. He quickened his pace. Some 'one touched him. He turned; and a stranger pointed towards the carriage. The lady was beckoning to him. In the instant it occurred to him that the lady had probably recognized him as a clerk of Munnypen & Co., and wished to speak with him on some matter of business. Probably he had seen her at the counting- house sometime. Smiling at the miscarriage of his young- born vanity, he approached the carriage door with' an unembarrassed and business-like air. She did not seem equally composed; there was a flush on her face, and a wild eagerness in her eye. "Egbert-Egbert Hartsum?" she half asked, half asserted. "That is my name: one of Munnypen & Co.'s clerks,", he answered, quietly. She smiled a peculiar smile-humor, pain, and pleasure in it. "You do not know me. How could you? It is so many years. Look, Egbert, do you not remember --? But no, I will not tell. you. Your bewilderment is delightful!" "Your face is not wholly strange," said Egbert, color- ing in spite of himself from the awkwardness of not recognizing one of such surprising beauty, that once known she should never be forgotten. "When I first saw you, a few moments since, it seemed to me that I had seen you before. But the longer I look, the less distinct grows that first impression. Did you not know my name, I should suspect that you had mistaken me for some :ne else." "There come those pests!" she exclaimed. "Stupid!" The young men who had bowed her into her carriage )? ) TUE BIRTHDAY. 169 were again advancing and preparing to address her. Here is my card," she said, hastily. "Do not read it now," and she handed it to him with the blank side up- wards. Come and see me this evening, at six, not later; adieu." The carriage was in motion before the last word was spoken; and Egbert found himself in the centre of the disappointed group of young exquisites, He was evidently the object of some wonderment. The looks they interchanged, conveyed the interrogation, "What could she have to do with him?' and certainly if it were necessary to be like them in order to be worthy of her attentions, Egbert Itartsum was not. They were men of fashion; he, so far as dress and manners indicated, might be "'a mechanic, or something of that sort.," Had his vanity spoken then, however, it would have told him that he was handsomer than the-best looking of them all. Egbert extricated himself from his position as speedily as possible, and once again, moving on with the crowd eagerly examined the lady's card. It would be vain to attempt to describe the intense astonishment with which he read there the name of one long thought of as com- pletely and forever lost to his knowledge, if' not indeed dead and buried; one that he might have expected to discover, if at all, in humble and obscure life, if not, in- deed, amid scenes of poverty and degradation; but never could have dreamed a, dream so wild and extravagant as this, the reality, that he should find "Stell, " the dance girl," transformed into an elegant woman, known and adulated, as he himself had witnessed, by people of fash- ion! Yet the card bore her name, "Estelle Saltore!" So completely was his mind occupied with tDis marvel- ous discovery, that a very pretty girl walking close be- side him for full five minutes, vainly strove by many little 8 page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 10o "THE. JULIA. ': arts to catch his attention. At last, quite accidentally, of course, her sunshade touched his arm. He started. She pouted. "Why, Carrie! he cried. But she was looking at a shop window and did not hear him. Of course, she did not, or she would have answered his salutation. "Good afternoon, Carrie," he said again. . She turned to look for the speaker, but happened to seek him in the wrong direction. "Carrie Foster!" he said, louder. "Oh, Egbert, is that you?" "Did you not see me before?" he asked. She laughed as she answered. "I need not ask if you saw me; I know you did not. It seemed as if all Broad- way were swallowed up in your one thought. What was it?" "Something wonderful, Carrie. But I had better not tell yet, perhaps." " ot me 2?" she asked, with a curiosity that begged the "me"' to be considered the most confidential little body in the world, who might as safely be entrusted with a secret as a rock with a fossil. "No; not even you," he answered smilingly. "Then I have a, great mind not to tell you my secret. Only," she added, "I came out on purpose to tell you, and it would spite myself not to. Canit you take a walk with me? I am going away to-morrow, and I want to say ever so much to you-about my Sunday school class, my poor people, and such things, you know," she added, demurely. "You walk on slowly," said Egbert. "I will run down to the office and see if I can be spared for an hour or TTHE BIRTHDAY. " two: there is not much doing just now. I will overtake you." E He had gone and was back again before she had walked the length of two blocks. ' "I am you servant, Carrie, till tea-time. Where shall we go? To the Battery?" i ' L "Yes." i; "Take my arl." She took it. Had she been less'a child she would [ hardly have refused Egbert Hartsum's arm. There are j some young men whose arm any woman will take, at any time or place, not even with a hesitating acceptance. Egbert was one of that kind. "Now for your secret," he dsaid. "You are going away to-morrow, you said. iWhere?" "To boarding-school to learn everything. A lady who foved my mother, my real mother, not Mrhs. Foster--" "Not Mrs. Foster?" "She is not my real mother, you know." "Oh, yes. I forgot." "I often forget it too;, though mother, that's my mbthler now, says I ought not to. But I was, so young; and father and mother seem so like it, I almost wish they were my real father and mother." "What about the lady? ' Oh, yes. She is rich and so beautiful. I wish you could see her. But you must not. I am not even to tell her name. So I have my secret, not to be told yet, as well as you." "What has this mysterious lady to do with your going to boarding-school?" Lj: "Everything. She sends me. Father could not affordl to. Father, by the way, does not seem to fancy it much. !P page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 "THE JULIA.)" He would rather keep me at home. But he says it would not be right to refuse, as he might die or something, and a first rate education would put me in the way of taking care of myself. Besides, this lady las persuaded him, somehow, that she has a right to& do for me. I do not know how,'unless it is gratitude to my mother. But do look at the bay. How beautiful the water is. Let us sit here. See those white caps. See, that schooner with its white sails. Why don't they always keep their sails clean. How soiled yonder sloop's are. What a delight- ful breeze. And look way down, down,-oh! would n't you like to go to sea?" "I have been," was the quiet answer. And as the chattering Carrie looked up she became aware that her companion was admiring her face rather than joining in her adiniration of the water-view. Admir- ing it not offensively, as a mere prettiness to the eyes, but approvingly, as a face that sent the sense of beauty to every good and true heart. It was a pretty face, round and plump, and of brilliant complexion, very white and delicately shaded into the deepest tints of rosiness; the eye a clear blue; the light hair of silky texture, and the mouth very mirthful and kissable. It was one of those faces which always attract the attention of passers-by in the street. Carrie could not walk Broad- way without knowing that many eyes rested longer on her face than on others; and strangers ventured many an act of courtesy to the pretty. child, almost a woman, that would not have been presumed upon had she been quite a woman. So it happened that Carrie Foster, at fourteen years of age, was conscious of herself, and had more romantic notions of love and what not, than her better judgment a few years later would tolerate. f!. THE BIRTHDAY. 173 Carrie was just a bit of a coquette. Yet Carrie Foster's real beauty consisted in the substantial qualities of real goodness. One arrested merely by her face, its light and color, would be disappointed on a closer examination. Not one feature of that face was faultless. But amia- bility, intelligence aid sprightliness gave to her face that expression which mere curve and precision of form could not. "I am sorry you are going away, that is, that you are going where we cannot see each other often," said Egbert. "Do you care very nuch?" asked Carrie, coquettishly. "Yes, very much." "So do I," she said emphatically. "I am glad to go to school, but I am sorry to leave you." 'I believe, Carrie, I have loved you better than any one, except, of course, mother, and Cle', and--" he added, more cautiously, "Fanny."9 Cairrie was not charmed with this avowal. She pouted and wrote cabalistics on the walk with her sun-shade. "What is the matter? he asked. "Oh, nothing, she answered, in a tone that said she meant "everything," and she turned away from him. "What is it? What are you thinking of? What annoys yofi?" he asked with real anxiety;. and then detecting, as he thought, a tear-drop stealing down her cheek, he took her hand and spoke more tenderly. "Dear little Carrie, tell me what troubles you. Don't I love you better than any one?" "You just said you did not," she answered, brightening up in an instant, "and I thought you loved me better than all the world, without any 'except, and I thought now that I am going away you would tell me so." "Why, you dear little girl. I do believe you would page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 "THE JULIA." have me make a formal declaration of love and proposal of marriage." t "Now you spoil it all; and I had thought it would lee so nice, when I ain going away, to be gone, oh! ever so long, to have you come out and tell me all you felt, and then to go away knowing that we were nearer to each other than if we had lived close together always!" "Why, you nonsensical girl you! "There; now.! you don't care for me one bit. And I do believe you are glad I am going away!" She was half crying, half scolding. "No Io am not, and yes i do," he said, earnestly. "I love little Carrie Foster so much that I can hardly tell how much: just as much as a boy, eighteen years old to- day, can love a little girl hardly fourteeh!" "Are you eighteeni? Oh, how old you are. Old enough to be married." "Not quite, my dear." "I wish I was older," she remarked, pensively. "Why?" "Oh-because," "Because I might get married before you are old enough to be- married?" "Perhaps so.," she said, archly. "I hope I shall not," he responded. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, quickly. "What I say; that I hope I shall not be married till you are old enough to be." "And then marry -somebody else, of' course?" she added, querulously. "Of course not,i' he answered, with a smile. "Why do you not come out then and ask me, and so settle the matter?" she said, resuming her natural, play- TIlE BI1THDAY. 175 fud manner, yet childishly serious in it all. "Then you would be sure to wait for-me, and we shall be engaged, you know." "Because, dear little Carrie, I am just old enough to know that. this would not be right." Then, seeing the dejected, disappointed expression stealing over her pretty face, he added quickly, But you and I will love each other, Carrie, as we have done. .And if when you are eighteen, you can say that you love me, as I love you, then-" he ended the sentence with a kiss. Carrie was satisfied. His voice expressed more than the words, and the kiss, in her childish fancy, sealed a real engagement. And Carrie, the foolish child, forgetting all about her Sunday school class, her poor people, "and snch things', which she had promised to talk about, and talking only of love, engagements 'and marriage, as she fhad ltalked with Bertie not long since of the same sub- jects with reference to those important p)ersonages, her dolls, walked home, playing at child's play still. Eghlert, too, was hardly beyond child's play, only there was an earnestness something more than a boy's in his part of the conversation. And, however Carrie might, at some future, look back at the childish things of which the sea-side was that day witness, Egbert must always feel that he had given a pledge which only she could can- cel the obligations to redeem. page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] XIX. R xix. TpGBERT was near his own home before he thought again of Estelle Saltore; so completely had the pretty blonde banished from his mind the brilliant bru- nette. She was recalled now by the sight of a ragged child turning the very corner "' Stell" had so often lspunl round to dive down Tipsy Alley to a drunken home. The wretched Stell! The magnificent Estelle! Could they be one and the same? What is personal identity? Where the history of hers? He would know soon. It was already time to go to her. He went. He found her in costly apartments, surrounded with splendor and lux- ury. And the, stately brunette took vengeance then on the petite blonde, for the gentle Carrie was not once thought of under the spell of Estelle's majestic presence. "Egbert, my dear friend!" was her salutation, and, her manner evinced her pleasure more than woirds, "Oh! how happy I am' to meet you once more!" "Estelle," the name trembled on his lips, as if it were presumption to be familiar, " is this indeed yourself?" A merry laugh testified how delightfully she relished his astonishment. "Please tell me -- he began. "Tell me first," she interrupted, "if during these long (176) f f , A SURPRISE. . IT years, you have ever thought of, cared for, sought after jI tthat poor girl, who, for love of you, braved the jeers of ! -1 men and the frowns of women, by climbing the ropes of ^ the Julia, that last day we met?" "Indeed, I have," he asserted earnestly. "But long since I gave over as hopeless any effort to ascertain your fate." "And acquiesced in it?" she asked anxiously. "What else could I do?" "Nothing, I suppose," she. answered, dejectedly. She became thoughtful. and grave. H-er face in repose brought back to Egbert's recollection more forcibly her appearance as a child. When it was animated with intel- ligence and. happiness, it was difficult to trace in it any resemblance to the thin, melancholy, abject Stell of for- mer days. Yet in all moods she was now what she never was then, handsome exceedingly. And Egbert was so well- satisfied with gazing on that noble countenance, that he forgot for some time to renew the suspended con- versation. "Is it possible," he exclaimed at length, " that you are the same Estelle Saltore I used to know? It is almost past belief. Will you not gratify my curiosity and tell me your story?" "'No, not yet," she answered, rousing herself. "Let me enjoy the present while I may. Sit you there. Give me your hand. So. And you are "Bertie," "Egbert Hartsum," whom I loved in childhood, whom I left so ill, pale, thin and dying as I thought, nld whom I have- often wept as dead. And now you are strong. This hand, so delicately made, could crush mine, and mine is muscular. Oh! Egbert, dear. brother of my childhood, I am happy!" 8* page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 178 "THE JULIA." Nor are you less changed," he said, diffidently, "nor less for the better." Egbert was not at his ease. So long as he could re- member that she was, or had been rather, "Stell, the dance-girl," he could be familiar. But he could not keep that in mind; the elegance of her manners, the beauty and splendor of her appearance, of a style to which he was unused, and had only seen at a distance, overpowered and oppressed vim. When he tried to speak freely, he became, in spite of himself, deferential'; and when he attempted to be merely polite, he grew awkward. Therefore, his voice sank, and he chose to leave the conversation in her hands, where she was will- ing enough to keep it--and that without seeming to ob- serve his embarrassment; till by degrees her own ease of manner charmed away his timidity. She declined talk- ing about herself, but insisted upon hearing all about him, especially of his voyage to India. His account of the missionaries, and of their happy influence on board the Julia, she made him hasten over. But of his friend, Captain White, she could not hear enough. She recog- nized in him the sailor-boy who came between her and the wrathy captain on the day when she so unexpectedly boarded the Julia. She asked many questions about him, and manifested so eager an interest as at last to excite Egbert's notice. "I never forgot a friend that once served me, in ever so little a way, especially in the days of my poverty and friendlessness," was the explanation she gave. "But let us talk about yourself. I see that you are, as they say you are, good, religiously good, I mean. Good, in the best sense of the word, you always were. But, Egbert, dear, what is pretty piety in a boy, is mawkish and affected o A SURPRISE. 119 in a man. You must let me cure you of all saintliness. 3en are men; it is time enough to be angels when man- hood is in the dust. You do not comprehend me, I see?" I do not wish to," he answered, like his own straight- forward self, at the same time withdrawing his hand from hers. "Have it your own way," she answered, with some im- patience. "If you will not learn of me, you may try to teach me your notions, as you used to do in that sick- room, the remembrance of which, and of your pale face, still haunts me."' "Estelle, have you not yet learned-" he began se- riously. ' Not now," she interrupted. "We will postpone the first lesson in evangelical piety, please. Let me enjoy this evening in my own way. Let me satisfy myself with looking at you and trying to make you out. Egbert, you dear frienl of my childhood.!" she exclaimed, pas- sionately, " you cannot understand how dear you are to me! You have had many to love. You loved from the first pulse of conscious being. Loving faces smiled upon your infancy. Loving lips taught you words of love. Loving hearts poured love through every possible avenue into your young soul. But with me, all was so different! I never loved till I knew you I Never saw one smile, beard one word, was the object of one act of real kind- ness and affection, till I knew you. And you became my first love. My whole heart, with its rich, discarded, hoarded treasure of love, poured itself into your heart. Never was a brother so cherished. And though I have supposed you were dead, was sure you must die when we parted, and therefore was sure you had died, yet the loving remembrance of you has entered into my life- * page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 "TiTE JULIA." dream ever since. Every word you ever spoke to me, every look you ever gave me, every kind deed you ever did for me, is remembered and conned over, till it seems a part of my very being. I see you do not understand me-you cannot. It would be impossible for you to understand how intensely a neglected child, with such a temperament as mine is, must give itself up completely to a solitary affection for the only one in the whole world it may or can love." * ' He had indeed changed color; and expressed in his coun- tenance doubt and surprise at the vehemence of her dec- larations. "Perhaps," she added, sadly, after a nioment's silence, "when I come to know you fully, I shall find you very different from the image, I have carried about in my heart of the boy champion, the protector and the brother I of my unbefriended girlhood! And you, who never could have cared for me as I for you, will you like me 1 now at all?" !- "If I ever cared for you when you Were the wild, gro- I tesque child I remember," he answered, with a smile, "I cannot help liking you now that you are-"- he i paused. "You, too, are handsome, Egbert, very," she sMid abruptly, showing that she knew what he hesitated to say of her. "Were you ever told so?" He blushed now to his eyes. "Never," he answered, "till to-day, when my mother told me so. I was pleased, then, for her sake; but when, afterward, one that is beauti- ful seemed to look at me as if she thought me handsomle, I found myself pleased on my own account. My vanity, however, met with a fall: she had' another motive for looking at me. I have learned, however, by this little '. -I, A SU]zPRISE. 181 occurrence, how dangerous it is to think of one's appear- ance.' "Nonsense, you dear, ingenuous Egbert," the' lady cried. "You must. get used to it, and learn neither to, be flattered nor satisfied with the knowledge. They call me handsome. You think I amn. You almost said so a nmoment since." "Yes. . "There! I did not blush. Neither must you. You. are handsome, but you need dressing, Egbert. You must let me cultivate that taste in you. 'Many have not the' discrimination to distinguish a man from his clothes; and would remark nothing in you except that you are in this respect a little below par in society's point of view." "How old are you?" she began again. "Eighteen and over, I think?" "Eighteen to-day." "You look full twenty. Rather a serious face, yours, for eighteen. Yes, I know, your father,--so gentle to you, so fierce to me. They say he became what you religious people call ' good,' and lost the power of putting on that terrible mask that could not frighten me." "Say rather, lost the wish.. Oh, he was so changed, You would have loved him, Estelle." "And you are now," she said, without noticing his remark, "the head of the family, as well as its youngest member, and so trusted and beloved by all." "How have you learned so much of me? Have you been here long? "Here, in this city? - No;- a month, perhaps." "And never let me know you were here, for all your professions of love?" "I had my reasons," she answered mysteriously. page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 "T'HE JULIA." "Am I to hear naught of your history?" 'he asked. "Certainly, yes," she answered laconically, "but not now. Indeed,' dooking at her watch,) "there is not time, I have an engagement." She rose, and he rose to take his departure. But a sudden thoulght struck her. "Egbert, come, go with me. That would be delightful.) "Where?" he askeld. "No matter where. You have no other engagement?" "No." S "You will .not refuse me then. Let's see-your dress! Oh! it will pass, only gloves, you have none with you, no white ones, of course? "White kid? In truth I never owned a pair." "Lizette," she called. Her. dressing-maid answered and received orders, in French, to procure the desired article. Egbert, also in French, gave the number needed, and tendered the money to pay for them. "You understand French," said Estelle, with evident gratification. "Amuse yourself with that while I make my toilet." He opened the book she gave him. It was a Frenchl novel. At no time would he have cared to read it; but now his mind was preoccupied with conjectures about its owner. Who and what was she? And where was she taking him? And why was she so mysterious about it all. She returned. His gloves were produced and put on. And without a word of explanation on her part as to their place of destination, they descended the stairs and entered a carriage that stood in waiting at the door. She so interested him in conversation (of purpose, per- haps,) that he did not observe the direction in which they were driven. The carriage stopped in a dimly lighted A SURPR-TS. 183 street. He had not the least idea of the locality. They entered a door that opened at some whispered sessame, without the preliminaries of bell or porter. They ascended a flight of unpromising stairs. The sound of music became audible, louder and nearer with every rising step, and and was so loud and near when they reached the top of the stairs, that Egbert could scarcely hear Estelle's direc- tions to enter the door at the right and wait. He obeyed. He found himself in a small, parlor-like room, richly carpeted, mirrored and pictured, in which some dozen ladies and gentlemen were crowded, some of them so grotesquely dressed that Egbert doubted if he were not in Bedlam. One side of the room was orna- mented with what seemed to be a bow-window, festooned with costly lace and silk curtains. The deafening music, evidently, was outside, under that window. Egbert won- dered he had not heard it before entering the house, though this window, of course, he knew, must look out upon laothler street than that firom which he had entered. There. was a movement in the room., Some, those strangely dressed, hurriedly withdrew. The rest hastened to the open window. The music ceased. There was the sound of voices outside t Egbert did not listen, he was improving the opportunity afforded for examining the pictures. He heard a step and' turned to the door. It was not Estelle, but her maid, Lizette. "Mademoiselle," she said, "desired me to give you a seat." "What does she mean? '? he said, to himself. "Surely I dream." ' Buf he followed the abigail mechanically to the window. She, with her own national tact, secured him a favorable place and vanished. If he suspected before he might be dreaming, at the first glance out of that window he was sure he was. page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184 "TiE JULIA." Then, in the same instant alinost the truth flashed upon him, he was in a theatre, and this window overlooked the stage. He had time -but for one glance around on the brilliant tiers of beauty, display and fashion, when the house shook with applause, rapturous, loud and prolonged, and on the stage before him, in dress, attitude and bear- ing all a queen, curtsied low, Estelle Saltore. Ile needed not now the murmured cry on every side of "Stella! Stella! Stella! , to know that "Stell, the dance- girl," had become the renowned "Stella," whose name had been emblazoned for weeks past on every street cor- ner, and whose praises had filled long columns in the daily papers. It was a proud, gratified, amused, and yet anx- ious look, she turned Up to the stage-box and made a lower inclination of her jewelled head to the astonished Egbert. As Estelle herself, one night, years since, in that very theatre, had been fascinated with the acting of Nora, so now was Egbert with Stella's. And when at last, pantinl and excited, she entered the box-room, he could hardly believe that the hand she held out toqhm was not of royal quality, to be touched on bended knee with reverent lips alone. Stella, surrounded with admirers and sycophants, could speak but a word to Egbert. She bade him watch for her at the door. There she soon reappeared, and took his arm decidedly in pteference to a dozen that were ambitiously offered. He was stared at as an intruder, but none dared to breathe their thoughts of him in Stella's presence. They thronged around her with inconvenient politeness. She pressed through them, speaking words courteous, kind, cutting, witty, now to the right, now to the left, all the way down the stairs, . t , . i ;# A SURPRXISE. 185 on the side-walk, to the very door of her carriage. At last that vehicle was in motion, and she threw herself back in the seat and sighed! Who would have thought that she, who had had such a triumph that night, and had been hailed "a goddess ' among men, could have sighed, and sighed, too, merely and only because she doubted the real approbation of that young, unfashionable, inconsider- able boy who sat beside her in the carriage. "Egbert, you know me now; an actress," she said, bitterly. "And I have leained, learned since I have been here in this city, better than I had ever learned it before, how severely you religious people condemn the stage and judge all connected with it. The dark. gulf that separates the redeemed from the lost even now, if they could, your teachers and pastors would open between such as you and such as me!" "You speak strongly, Estelle." "You cannot deny it. Tell me-you are truthful!- do you not despise me?"' "No," he answered, almost indignantly, "in the present moment of excitement, (I never before was in a theatre, Estelle,) my whole heart burning with the sense of your power, your genius, your greatness, I could almost affirm that it were a sin, that you should be aught else than what you are, the glorious Stella!" God bless you, Egbert," she cried, "you love art! You will feel with me yet." ' No, Estelle," he answered, seriously, " do not mis- understand me. Even now, intoxicated cas I am with admiration of Stella, and still confused with the brilliance of that unaccustomed display; even now, I say, I wish, as your friend, your brother, that you were not Stella; yes, even that there were no Stella. I can see in that page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 "T HE JULIA." whirlpool of fashion, gayety and excitement only danger, danger to yourself, danger to others, increased a thousand fold by the attractions which you lend to it, danger of being drawn into a vortex of sin, folly and death!" "Danger!" she repeated, angrily; "the true heart scorns it! Temptation dogs the cowardly and skulks at a look of honesty and bravery!" "Estelle," he said, by way of diverting the conversa- tion from a theme he felt he had rushed into too precipi- tately, " you have not yet gratified my curiosity. Am I to know only that you are an actress, and not how you became one?" "We are nearly home," she answered. "Come to- morrow evening and hear my story. You will?" "Certainly." "Now that you know me to be an actress?" "Actress, or what you please, you are Estelle, my old fiend, of whom I always judged better than others did, and hope always to esteem and love." Thank you, Egbert; judge me still truly and justly. I ask no more, and refuse less!" On his eighteenth birth-night, Egbert Hartsum laid his head upon his pillow in a feverish state of mental disquietude. It had been a day full of incident, ,nd he recalled its events, with some dissatisfaction. He had been betrayed, in his childish talk with Carrie Foster, into saying things that had better been unsaid. Who knew what unhappiness for her and for himself might yet grow out of that childish talk? She might be forgiven her part, but he was too old to receive pardon from a captious world for sufering such serious words to pass A. SUrRPISE. 18S between them. Then he had been at a theatre! How dreadfully it sounded! He could not se4arate the fact. from the notions of sin which his religious creed attached to it. To be sure e h ad gone unwittingly, had been entrapped into it; but then his sensitive conscience asked, ought lie not to have fled the place as soon as he had dis- covered its character? And had he not enjoyed its attractions with a keen and unholy relish? And did lie not feel as if he would like to go again? Had not the seductive influences of the place entered into his very heart, and already poisoned his tastes and stimulated the love of worldly pleasures? Simple questions, some may think, but actual and distressing to a young and chris- tian conscience, yet unpolluted by the world. Another sin came knockilng at the door of conscience-he had that day discovered himself in the indulgence of personal vanity. In fact, Egbert. was altogether dissatisfied with himself and with the events of the past day. He foresaw, too, difficulty, temptation and danger in his renewed intimacy with Estelle Saltore. T He was troubled. These thoughts came to Egbert after his head was laid on his pillow. His ordinary prayers had been said and he had retired to his bed, before he indulged himself in a deliberate review of all that had happened. Then there was an impulse to rise again from his bed and commit himself anew and solemnly to the Divine guid- ance, to ask wisdom and strength from on high. Well would it have been had he done so; but a notion that he should calm and arrange his perturbed thoughts before prayer, kept him nin thinking, thinki thinig, to no pur- pose, till at last his thoughts passed into dreams; dreams of pretty Carrie and the superb Stella, of the Battery and its dashing waves, of the flashing theatre and its stunning page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] L IA. - a of things shapeless, grotesque and fleet- ;he slept soundly and dreamlessly. He Ihe morning, to dress with haste and hurry >rk at Munnypen &Co.'s counting house. XX. ESTELLE Saltore told her story with reservations. We parted with her on the morning when she entered on the duties of lady's maid to Leonore For- rester, famous as the actress " Nora.'" Weeks passed, and Estelle was continued in her place. Rapidly accommodating herself to her new position, she fully satisfied the demands of her mistress. Ier inflexible truthfulness made her trustworthy; her dex- terity indispensable, and her proud, ambitious imagin- ative temperament attractive and engaging. The actress was charmed with her, and though little accustomed to unselfish effort, warmly encouraged her desire of mental cultivation, and took pleasure in instructing so apt a scholar. The strange interest the child inspired at fiist never subsided, but rathe increased. Nora's engagement in New York at last was con- clided; a tour through the southern cities was to follow. On the morning of the day before they were to start, while her mistress was at breakfast, Estelle was busily occupied packing her own trunk. Her wardrobe, through the generosity of her mistress, had increased beyond the capacity of the square paper box, and as her ideas had correspondingly enlarged, she discarded the greater part of the original contents of that box. She page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 "THE JULIA." had come at last to the ragged, embroidered handker- chief, and was debating whether to keep it as the only memento of tie past, or destroy it for its own worthless- ness, when the actress returning from breakfhst entered. in search of her, The handkerchief at once attracted her attention. "That is exquisite work, Estelle," taking the handker- chief out of her hand and spreading it out on the bed, to examine it more minutely. "What an elaborate pattern! How did you come by it;?" "It was mother's," answered Estelle, indifferently, busy at her trunk. - "Your mother could not have been the original owner of such a costly article; but, yes, these must be her initials in the centre; they are the same as yours, 'E. S' Was your mother's name, too, Estelle?" "No, her name was Margery," answered. Estelle, tak- ing the handkerchief as she spoke from the bed, to ex- amine the initials, and leaving on the bed the forgotten papers that had been rolled up in it. "David Barnes," said the actress, reading aloud the superscription of the letter. "That's father's name," carelessly remarked Estelle, returning to her trunk. "Your father's?" asked the actress; "you said your name was Estelle Saltore?" C So it is." "Then how can your father's be Barnes? If you are his daughter, you should bear his name." "Should I?" exclaimed Estelle, eagerly, for the fancies of her childhood were in. an instant conjured up; " then perhaps,. after all, I've been stole away, like the great princesses in the play.") ADISAPPOINTNTET. 191 The lady smiled; but seeing that Estelle did not like to have the idea ridiculed, she pretended to, perhaps did, take a more serious view of the matter, and confessed that there,-was something mysterious in this difference of Ilamxne. "Tell me all that you know about your parents, or this David Barnes and his wife," she said. Estelle, never communicative on this subject before, gave now all the information she possessed; told of their drunkenness, penury and wretchedness; described their character and appearance, in every particular so unlike her own, showed plainly that while they had never been willfully cruel, neither had they treated her with the tenderness and carefulness that would indicate parental affection. Yet she confessed that she had not the slight- est glimmering recollection of any other home than Tipsy Alley, or any other guardians than David and Margery Barnes. Leonore Forrester was interested. Her own imagina- tion was excited, and she was weaving fictions in her own mind to explain this mystery, not less -improbable than Estelle's favorite fancy that she was a stolen princess. "I must see this David Barnes," she exclaimed. "Do you think yjou can find him?" "I'm afraid not. I don't know where to look, unless at the shops." "You can try. Go now. Think of every place where he would be likely to be found that you know of; and if you find him, bring him back with you." Estelle obeyed. She had little expectation of finding her father, and would hardly have persevered in the attempt had she not been incited by the new-born hope that her name was the key to some great and grand 4. page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 Tnl-HE JULIA,. secret. She remembered a certain low groggery, one of her father's harunts, she had often been sent there for the accursed rum; how she hated it! Thither she bent her steps. As a ragged, uncared-for child she could have entered that grog-hole without exciting remark; but now, a respectably dressed female, her very approach to its neighborhood exposed her to offensive observation, if not to insult. Yet she loitered in its vicinity, passing and repassing the door, hoping to recognize some familiar, even if detested 'face. A wretched child, ,about her own age, stood on the other side of the street, watching and mimicking her. Estelle smiled at her antics, and sighed as she thought how short a time since she was very much such an one as that rude and uncouth child. She crossed the street and spoke to the vagrant. "Go into that' place," pointing; "ask if Mr. David Barnes is there, or if they can tell where he is to be found, and I will give you that," showing a piece of money. The child's. eye glistened, and she darted off to earn the reward. In a minute she returned. "He's in the hospital, they say," was her brief communication. To the hospital Estelle went; fortunately to the right one, and at an hour when visitors were admitted. She was put under escort with the brief direction, Ward No. 3, Bed TNo. 5.. And there, indeed, she found her father; but so changed, she would not, have recognized him, hatd she not expected to see him. He did not at first recognize her; and when he did, spoke to her with a timid deference, little like his usual manner. Her clothes-the ill-dressed, poverty-stricken girl transformed into the outward semblaice of gentility-oppressed him, -F - mA DI S APP OINTMENT. 193 and commanded respectful consideration. Estelle's man- ! - ner towards him was changed, too. His palor, emacia- tion, feebleness, touched her softer nature, and the old brusquerie with wlich she had treated her parents gave pl'ace to a compassionate interest. "PI'm sorry you're sick, father," she said. "Hope you'll soon be better." The sick man did not answer, but looked at her from under the coverlids with a curious, scared scrutiny. At last, motioning to her to put her head down, that he might speak without being:overheard, he whimpered out a eolfession of his parental neglect. "I'e not been good to you, Stell.) "'You might have done worse," interrupted Estelle. "You taught me to read, you know!" "Poor child! I tauglt you nothing but to drink, and that you wouldn't learn. I taught Margery to drink, too, and I've killed her." Weak and contrite, he began to sob and cry. Estelle, not knowing how to comfort him, let him have his cry out. "You'll get along without me, better than with me, Stell," he said, after a time. "I wish PId put you in the way of making an honest living. Do you stay with the woman in the attic yet? Did she give you those clothes? land will she care for you when I'm gone, Stell?" "She's dead, too," answered Estelle sadly. "But don't be worried about me, father;"' for she saw his anxious look. "I've got a good place as lady 's maid." The thought of her mistress recalled the purpose of her present visit, which the sight of the sick man had ban- ished from her mind. "Father, I want to ask you a question?" 9 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 "THE JULIA." / "Well?" he replied, with a nervous start at her ab- ruptness. "'Are you my real father?" Such a question, so directly put, to a man as weak and sick as he was, might, under any circumstances, cause some agitation; but David Barnes was very much agi- tated, more so than any ordinary circumstances would warrant. He trembled and grew faint and seemed una-. ble to speak. Estelle, intent now on her purpose, and impatient to be answered, did not seem aware of his exceeding feeble- ness. She pressed the question. "Your name is Barnes, father ; and mother's was Barnes, Margery Barnes. And my name's Saltore, Estelle Saltore. What's that mean, father?" Her impetuous., imperative manner seemed to frig]lten the sick man into obedience. He made an effort, and answered her in a faint hoarse whisper. "Your name is not Saltore. That was my fancy. Neither is it Barnes. And you are not my child, nor Margery's. I cannot tell you more now. Come to-mor- row. I've sins enough-" But the sentence was unfinished. He had fainted. Estelle hastily called a nurse. "Go away, now," said that official, angrily. "It isn't enough to have sick folks to tend, but their friends, that wont take care of them themselves, is always coming and making them worse. Be off, I say. He'll do well enough, if you'll leave him alone!" The nurse, while she scolded, applied with more skill and efficiency than a gentler hand might have done, the proper remedies. Estelle, undaunted, stood her ground till she saw signs 'of returning consciousness, and then , , } * t . A DISAPPOIINTMENT. 195 quietly and slowly, with something of her old air of defi- ance, obeyed the repeated mandate to " be off!" Leonore Forrester postponed her departure for one day, that she might herself see David Barnes, and learn the history of Estelle. At an ,early hour the next morning her carriage stopped at the hospital. Theelegant woman commanded attention that Estelle the day before had not;received. The clerk in the office recognized the fa- mous actress. A young physician in attendance was only too happy to escort them to Ward No. 3, Bed No. 5. The nurse in waiting, the same that had been so cross to Estelle, was now all obsequiousness. "He's very bad, ma'am. Dying all night.. Can't speak nary a sound. Just breathes like, ma'anm." Dying and speechless, and with closed eyes, David Barnes could not even know that they were there. "Can you not rouse him?" asked the lady of the young doctor. "It is very important that we should speak to him." The young physician would do what he could-what he would have thought he could not do, had a person of less consideration requested it. Medicines were brought and administered with much difficulty. The dying ianul had just consciousness enough to refuse to swallow. The nurse and the physician persevered. And the actress, shocked at the use of means that did violence to the feel- ing that the dying should be left undisturbed, turned away her eyes and thoughts to other objects in that sick ward. Five minutes passed. The young doctor touched her. "He is reviving. See!"There was a tone of triumph in his voice that seemed to mock at death. The lady, sick at heart, turned her attention again to the invalid. page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 "'TiIE JULIA.": The evidence of re-animation was itself distressing;, for it consisted only in a more painful 'and convulsive gasp- ing, which had succeeded the gentle breathing in which his life seemed passing away. Another dose was given him. She would have prevented it; but she looked at Estelle and thought how much might depend on the re- sult, and was silent. His breathing grew more difficult; muscular action returned, and with it the contortions of the features and movement of the limbs that give to death so much appearance of suffering. "Ie is. coming to!" exclaimed the, doctor, with the same disagreeable tone of self-complimentary exultation. The sick mTn opened his eyes, and looked around. They rested finally on Estelle. He evidently knew her. "Speak!" whispered the actress. "Father." He shook his head and closed his eyes, as if he would decline the epithet. "Is she your daughter?" asked Leonore Forrester, anxiously-too intent on her purpose to shrink now from the dying man's side. He shook his head. "The daughter 'of your wife, Margery?" Again he shook his head. "Whose then?" He tried to speak, evidently with a desperate effort; but in vain. "Could you write?" He nodded. The doctor answered "No. Look at his fingers." They were stiff and purple. The dying nan understood; foP he lifted his hand and moved the fingers. It was the power of the will over muscles apparently dead. A DISAPPOINTMENT. 19 Leonore Forrester had produced pencil and paper from her pocket. "Lift him up," she said. "That would be instant death," the doctor answered. But there seemed no other way. "Lift him up," sh said again to the nurse. She did so. The dying man grasped the pencil, put to the paper with an energy that betrayed at least h iown determination. The next instant he fell back o his pillow, was laid gently down, breathed two or thre times, and was gone. The secret of Estelle Saltore's birth was buried it th grave of David Barnes. She never learned it. I Sse * page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] xx. "XXI. EONORE FORRESTER was as imnagin'ative as Es- L telle herself. She indulged in all kinds of romantic speculations as to the probable history of her young pro- teg6e. And, never seeming to doubt that slhe was entitled to high position in society, she accorded to her freely the deference and regard which her birthright. miglht command. It became her object to fit Estelle for the possible acquisition of a noble rank and splendid fortune. Long before they left the United States, Estelle, re- lieved from all the duties of lady's maid, that she did not voluntarily perform, received instructions in the element- ary branches of education from competent teachers, man(i immediately upon their arrival in England was pla(cd in a school, where neither pains nor expense were spared to perfect her education. But Estelle was no stolen princess, or titled lady, so far as was ever known. Year after year passed, and not the s'ightest clue to her origin was obtained. She her- self grew careless on the subject, and bent all her ener- gies to the one aimbition of her life, her preparation for the stage. Leonore Forrester more reluctantly gave up her dreams, and acceded to Estelle's wishes and afforded her every facility, in order that she might become an IHow IT HAPPENED. I accomplished actress. Thus it happened, that Estel 'Saltore rose from Tipsy Alley and ballet dancing to renowned position in the gay world as the grandest tr gedian of her age. p Leonore Forrester withdrew from the stage when E telle Saltore appeared upon it. Nor was she chagrille when the capricious public folgot the great "Nora" ] the more magnificent "Stella." She loved Estelle wit motherly love and rejoiced in her success as only t ,umother might. But the kind patroness waas suddenl removed from the busy stage, of life on which she ha acted so conspicuous, and, if the truth be told, unservic able a part. She died as she had lived, with no positiv faith for the fiture-in a dreamy, poetical, compromisin religious creed, not unequally yoked to worldliness an vanity. Estelle inherited her creedl and her fortune, an mourned for'l er as a daughter. She was again alone i I .t the world; alone in the midst of an adlilin'g world lonely in thh solitude of the universal adliration whic was lunshared by even onl, loving and symplathizing hearl We all crave the ties, of intimacy-objects of speci, affeclion, nearness of kindred and relationship. But E telle was alone, with no one dependent fori happiness o herself, no one frolm whom she lmight claim a persont interest as right. She sought some one on whoim t 1po'r the wealth of her loving heart ; and she thought o the orphaan Carrie, the daughter of the thin seamstress the second friend she had ever cherished. She had neve for'gotten the little, child. She lad ventured two or thre times to write to her adopted fathel and inquire of he welfiare. The answers she had received, while satisfa( tory as to the child's health and happiness, were brief an formal, and proved that s he wa-ns forgotten, or imperfectl page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 "' THiE JULIA." rememnbered. Yet she had watched over the interests of the child, and had not been inactive in her service; and many years afterwards Carrie had to thank Estelle for fa- vors which she owed to her energy and affectionate fidel- ity. Now Estelle was rich. She could be to Carrie all that Leonore Forrester had been to herself. Slle could return the kindness of the shadowy seamstress to her own unbefriended orphanage. She could relieve the benevo- lent pastor and his wife of a charge they had reluctantly undertaken. And she could have some one to love and to live for. While considering the best way of accomlplishing her purpose, the young actress was invited to make a profes- sional visit to the United States. She eagerly accepted it. On a pleasant day, in the month of October, Estelle Saltore was driven in a stylish carriage to the residence of the Rev. Mr. Foster. She was surprised at its small size and mean appearance. The recollection she had. of it was ofa large and commodious edifice. She was shown into the parlor. Here again she was astonished at the scanty and even shabby firniture. The impression made by that same furniture on her untutored mind, when she first saw it, was that of elegance, richness, and even luxurious- ness. When the Rev. Mr. Foster made his appearance she was again filled with amazement. Instead of being the commanding, dignified, impressive man she had once stood in awe of, he was only a tall specimen of a plain parson, with rather unbending manners. The wife, too, who soon after appeared, was by no means the imposing person she had expected to see, but a fat old lady with a very benevolent face. She began now to dread lest Car- rie should prove as great a disappointment, and deter- How IT HAPPENED. 201 mined, mentally, to be very cautious in making any pro- position concerning the child, till she had first seen and judged of her. Mr. and Mrs. Foster were as much astonished as theii visitor. They had expected to see a respectable young woman of. the stamp of a smart lady's-maid, and they found themselves confronted with a beautifil, elegani and stately lady. Perhaps they both appeared to less advantage in the eyes of their visitor from the embar rassment which their surprise occasioned. Mr. Foster entered first. Looked at Estelle, bowed, looked round the room for some other person, found nc one, and looked back again at Estelle. "Excuse me, madam, there is some mistake. I expec ted to see-" "Estelle Saltore!" she said. "I a she." "Ah! yes ;" looking confused. "But, excuse me, you are not tie-the-the personz,"'--he could not say ' lady, and did n'ot like to say 'girl,'-- " who took care of oui Carrie?" "The same, sir," she answered, in the quickest, plea santest way possible. "'Excuse me, I did not recognize you. H" But the embarrassed renmark he was about to add wa, prevented by the entrance of Mrs. Foster. Like hei husband she acknowledged the presence of an unexpectec visitor by a slight curtsy, and looked round the room foi some one else, not forgetting'the chair behind the door, r t which was exactly in the awkward position that an awk ward girl would be likely to happen upon. My dear,". said Mr. Foster, insinuatingly; but she did not hear. "My dear," still louder. But she wa, now-with an expression of vexation on her face-aboul 9* y page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 "'THE JULIA." to leave the room. "Mydear," he repeated, gaining her attention at last; " this is Estelle, or rather Miss--' "Saltore," said Estelle, answering his inquiring look. "Miss Saltore," he repeated. Mrs. Foster stood stock still; she was usually polite, but all idea of propriety was surprised out of her. Estelle, who had had time to recover from her own surprise at discovering Mrs. Foster to be so different from her remembrance of her, recalled at that moment tile kind kiss Mrs. Foster had given her on that sad, bereaving day, when first they met. Her impulsive nature prrompted her now to throw her arms around the good lady's neck, and kiss her most affectionately: it was a kiss of grati- tude, gratitude cherished for years. Estelle never forgot a kindness. Mrs. Foster was more and more astonished and per- plexed. She was very red in the face as a consequence; but her gentle heart, and her genial good humor, beamed in every feature. "You desire to see Carrie, of course," remarked Mr. Foster, as soon as they were seated. "She is at school; but knowing she would love to see her old-her old- er-friend. I have sent for her; she will be here di- rectly." Carrie, of course, became the immediate subject of conversation. Mrs. Foster recovered her self-possession, and her usual quiet, pleasant manners. Mr. Foster was amiable, and anxious to give information in his more pre- cise way. The conversation was soon interrupted by the appearance of its subject. She came running in, out of breath, and with a heightened color, her school-bonnet thrown off her head, hanging to her neck. by the half-tied strings, and her manner, half eager, half diffident, be- How T HAPPENED. 20 trayed at once her anxiety to see one tenderly remnen bered, and her uncertainty as to just what sort of a perso she was to see, or what kind of a reception she woul meet with. She stopped at' the door, as her adopte par'ents had done, with a surprised look at the elegan stranger, which was immediately followed by an expre' sion of disappointment at seeing no one else present. I was but an instant, and Estelle's arms were around hei That instant was enough to satisfy Estelle that she coul love her once foster-sister. She saw, in her youthfti countenance, both the sweet baby face that was daguor reotyped on her memory, and the trace of the mor mature beauty that' had lingered to the last in her mo ther's pale and attenuated countenance. Past recollec tions came pouring in upon her, and she 'was obliged to walk' to the window to compose herself, leaving Carrie standing abashed and uncertain how to act.' But Estelle soon turned, resumed her seat, and called Carrie to sit beside her, holding her hand. Mr. and 'lrs. Foster would have left the room, but did not know how to do so. They were soon glad that they had not, and began to feel that Estelle was a dangerous character for Calrrie to be left alone with. "Do you remember me at all?" asked Estelle. "I remember " Estelle,' but you don't seem like her yet." "Do you recognize my face-my looks?" Carrie shook her head. "Not at all?" she asked again. "You are so different from my thought of you," said Carrie, at last. "What was your. thought?" "Oh, of some one poor. Of a very humble --- Carrie hesitated. page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 C"TIIn3 JULIA." "Servant,"' said Estelle, supplying the word, and reddening with foolish pride, or'shamne, rather, in spite of herself. "No," she added quickly, "I served as lady's maid, only for a febw weeks, and since tha t have played the lady myself. But have you no knowledge of me? no idea who and what I am?" i Carrie intimated by her look that she had not, and would like very nucll to learn. "You .have heardL' of Stella?" ' "The great actress? Yes." "I am Stella!" Carrie gave a little frightened cry, and her whole countenance underwent a silgular clance, of very doubt- ful meaning. Mrs. and Mr. Foster both started, and the one looked concernied and the other appalled. There was a dead silence. Estelle tad expected the announcement to afford pleasure, to Carrie at least. She knew that "serious" people were opposed to theatres and actors, but she had never come in contact with such persons, and did not know how strong and controlling their aversion is. She was not prepared for the very startling effect the simple announcement that, she was an actress had produced. She regretted the suddenness with which she had givell the information; but it was too late. Concealing her annoyance as she best could, she commanded her temper and her voice, and :addressed Mr. Foster in these words: "' Mr. Foster, I am Stella. My very humble condition in childhood is unknown to any peisons in the world save to those here present, and for very obvious reasons I desire the world to remain for ever in ignorance on this subject. May I depend on your honor and that of your family, not to divulge my secret? i i' HOW IT H[APPENED. 205 Mr. Foster answered deliberately, and after a sensible pause. He was moralizing to himself on the fact that an actress should be ashaned of the poverty and misfortune of her childhood, He was disposed to express his senti- ments, but a better feeling prevailed. "We know little of your history, Miss Saltore," he said; '" what we do know of your early life is not at all to your discredit. But your wishes on that subject shall be respected. We will divulge nothing voluntarily, without your consent.") / "Thank you, sir. Before we leave that subject, I would only say, that, I was at the time referred to in a false position. I was early deprived of parental care, and those into whose hands I fell reduced themselves to poverty and wretchedness by habits of intemperance; and now, sir, for another request. May I take Carrki to spend the day with me at my hotel?" Mr. Foster looked unwillingly, and Mrs. Foster nervous. "She will see no one but' myself, and need not go out of my rooms," added Estelle. "With that assurance, we cannot deny your request. Go, Carrie, and get ready." Cearrie obeyed, and Mrs. Foster accompanied her. Mr.' FOster embraced the opportunity to speak freely. "Miss Saltore, I can feel no doubt that our child -will be safe .under your protection. 'Stella, is well known and universally praised, and this interview encourages me in tl'e belief that the world has jnot overrated your deserts; yet, I must frankly confeis, that I am sorry that my child's friend proves to be an actress." Estelle reddened. "I only know by hearsay the inveterate prejudices of some against the theatre. My page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 "'TnlE JUTLIA.? whole life has been spent with actors and actresses. I claim to know them, and to resent the accusations made against them as a class. Malevolence, bigotry and fanatic- ism have combined against them. But, sir, I decline discussion on this subject. I desire now to speak upon a matter of business." "Pardon me," interrupted the clergyman, my remark was not intended to be personal. Nothing was farther from my purpose than to give offence. It was designed merely to preface a candid declaration. Excuse me, the subject is an awkward one, but I trust your good sense will put the best interpretation on my motives. It is this-that I cannot consent to any intimacy between our dear child and yourself. Do you not yourself see '" "Mr. Fostet'," interrupted the lady, with a good deal of dignity and a degree of asperity, ' my profession is as honorable as your own. I 'cannot compromise it even by entering on the discussion of its merits. Permit nme to divert your attention to the matter of business I jfist now alluded to. I wish to relieve you of all farther care and responsibility with reference to this child. She hns claims upon me that she has not on you. Her mother was a mother to me. The debt of gratitude I owe to her is immense. Then, sir, I knew. and loved Carrie and she me, before you had ever seen her. And, sir, I am rich and you are not. I have nb one else dependent upon me and you have. I wish, therefore, to ask, to entreat, and I might say demanld, her immediate transfer to my sole charge. I will give you every security you may desire, that she shall be amply provided for." "Never! never!" exclaimed Mr. Foster, with a vehemence that would not have been expected' from him, "never!" IIow IT HAPPENED. 2( "' Why not?' "To an actress??" he asked' in return, with a sligl expression of scorn. At, this instant Carrie herself appeared at the doo The jealousy of his love for her was excited; he felt th: Estelle was trying to steal away the, joy of his life, an should he permit an opportunity for a wily woman t ingratiate herself into the love and confidence of a mei child, and perhaps persuade her to leave a safe an quiet, and Christian home. The thought flashed upo him in an instant, and he acted upon it. "You cannot go, my child, with Miss Saltore," h said; "I have changed ny mind. Return to your roon and leave us alone." But they were not to be alone. Visitors arrived: an Mr. Foster invited Miss Saltore to a more private intei view in his study. They were long together. The r1 sult of their conference was, that Carrie was permitte after all, to accompany Estelle to her hotel, and tha Carrie was eventually sent to school at Estelle's expense but continued to call Mr. and Mrs. ]Foster "father anI mother,'? and be in all things subject only to them. Estelle was to be alone in the world. Her arden nature must seek in the excitements of her professior that engrossment which should make her forget that sh had no one to love and to live for. page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] XXII. ESTELLE SALTORE told her story., with iseserva- E tions. She told how she watched the Julia on her outward- bound voyage, when she carried away froml her the only one she loved, and left her all alone in the wide, wide world. She told of her return home, the discovery of her dead mother, the kindness of the thin seanstress, the desertion of her father, her loss of employment at the hairdresser's, and her efforts to earn a living by the needle. She dwelt affectionately on the death of thle shadowy seamstress. She related the happy incident by which she became the dressing-maid of Leonore For- rester, and how by accident she discovered that her father was not her father, and became the daughter of Leonore Forrester. She informed him that, having received in England every advantage of education, she made her successfi1 debut upon the stage, and in the midst of her first triuphlll was stricken and left again alone in the world by the death of Leonore Forrester. And she concluded by as- suring him, that she continued on the stage,!not of Ine- cessity, for Leonore Forrester had left her a competencen,. but because of her passionate love of art, and her amli- (208) INFLUENCE. 209 tious desire to refine and elevate the taste of the theatri- cal world. All this she told. But she did not tell that Carrie Foster was the daugh- ter of the kind seamstress, and that she, Estelle, was the * -; cause of Carrie's sudden translation to a boarding-school. She omitted, of course, all notice of her interviews on this subject ith the Rev. Mr. Foster, of that gentle- man's consternation at the discovery that his daughter's friend was an actress, of the antipathy he expressed to the profession in no measured terms, of his refusal at first to accept the kind offers of the actress in behalf of "is child, of the peculiar arguments by which she over- came his scruples, and of the conditions he exacted. that the child slould be removed beyond the actress' per- sonal influence. Neither did she hint at the true reason why she had not sought Egbert sooner, namely, lest through himr her relation to Carrie Foster might be dis- covered; nor did she allude to the fact'that she had hurried Carrie away to boarding-school that this obstacle to seeing Egbert mnight be removed; nor to the fact that all she knew of Eglert she had learned from Carrie her- self, and had enticed the child to talk volubly of this dear friend of h r's. Estelle told her story eloquently. She entered into many details, recited many incidents of trial and tempta- tion nobly borhe and overcome; her face, her voice, her gesture interpreted the language of her passionate heart; she was impetuous, serious, pathetic, and humorous by turns; and Egbert listened as one rapt; listened and pitied, and admired and rejoiced. Afterwards, when removed from the enchantment of her presence, he reflected with sorrow on one fact that -l did not occur to him while she related her history-the * , . page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 "TIIE JULIA." total absence of a truly religious influence from all the circumstances in which her eventful life had been passed. Her teachers, friends, and associates had, without an ex- ception, been of " this world." Piety, Christianity in its spiritual exemplification, had exerted no practical power in the development of her character, had not even fallen directly under her observation: she knew next to nothing about it. Estelle Saltore had been educated, as she said, highly ;" yes, thoroughly and ornately: physical, intel- lectual, and even in a sense, molral training had riot been lacking. But spiritual, the education of soul and heart for an immortal destiny, the education of the creature for the work and service of the Creator-of this she had received none. With all her reading of English books- of history, from Hume to Macauley, of poetry, from Chaucer to Tennyson, of novelists, from Fielding to Dickens-and, with all her intimate knowledge of Eng- lish dramatists, from Shakspeare to Talfourd, she had no more knowledge, at least no juster appreciation of the gospel of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, of its spirit, methods, and purposes, than the Roman senator, who proposed to honor Jesus Christ, just as she would have honored Him, no more, by placing his image in the Pan- theon, another god among many gods! English literature, that mine of priceless thought, teeming with all the pure gold, the brilliant gems, that the most princely genius of the human intellect could fabri- cate, how poor and worthless is it all when measured by ' the gospel standard of true wisdom! A man may read and read, andc by reading inform lis mind, refine his heart, and cultivate his life; and, after all, miss the knowledge that alone can make wise unto INFLUENCE. 2" salvation. We may pile our library shelves with Eng- lish books, and not in one of thousands find a true answer to the questions, How shall a man be just with God? What is the chief end of human being? What shall a man give for his soul? Nor learn in one that the highest good and glory of a man is to be "hid with Christ in God!" There are books pervaded with this truth; there are those which shine with its reflected lus- tre; but one can select thousands in which scarce a struggling ray of this truth is suffered to fall on the page which shines only with earthly and human light. His- tory is written, but it is all of men, their ideas, and the outworking of those ideas in events, and nothing of God, of His Spirit directing within the soul' of man, and His providence controlling without. Poetry is written, and' that one true harmony, the key to all harmonies, the har- mony between the soul of man and God, lost in the fall, restored ill Christ, is missed, or heard only as an invol un- tary echo of an unappreciated truth,' as the neglected, untouched harp, if we sing beside it, wrill give forthts music unasked. Fiction, too, in story or in drama, for ever misses the inner life, which darkens or brightens land makes the outer life worth or worthless, as God in Christ is known or unfelt.. Many, like Estelle Saltore, have had an English education out of English books, and have failed of that christian education, which Christian books, and, above all, the christian book, the Bible, alone afford. "Where shall wisdom be found? and where is the place of understanding?-God understandeth the way thereof, and He knoweth the place thereof.'-And unto man he said, Behold the fear of the LORD, that is wisdom; and to depart from evil is understanding.'" Estelle Saltore was an unchristian, but not an irreli- page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 "T 1E JULIA. " gious woman. Her inherent truthfulness and high aspi- rations raised her above badness. Her natural reverence for God, and some impressions early made upon her thoughts by Bertie Hartsum and the good seamstress, kept her firom impiety. There were points in her char- acter that might have been mistaken by unsagacious ob- servers as indications of real christian goodness.. Her conscientiousness was one. She obeyed her sense of right. Even as an actress she followed her conviction of duty. The passion for theatrical performances, im- planted in her childhood, seemed to her the law of her being, to be obeyed sacredly, faithfully. Nor were her's mercenary motives, nor the poor love of applause. She loved art. To be true to nature in her delineations of it; to deserve and compel the admiration she received; and to purify, rectify, and elevate the taste and judgment of those who accorded praise; these were her aims. The painter (and she loved and practised that art too,) could not be animated by juster and nobler sentiments. When Estelle talked of her profession, Egbert listened, with admiration, almost with approbation. Sometimes he could not resist her eloquence, and yielded to the be- lief that she was right; that it was her destiny to regenl- erate the stage; to infuse into her art her own good spirit. In cooler moments he rejected' these opinions. But whatever her duty or her choice, he deluded himself into believing that he must cast around her his brotherly protection. He had been in childhood her guardian. She threw herself againi upon his friendship as a sister might. She had no one else to trust in, to counsel witlh. He would assume the charge she was so ready to comm1it to him. He would watch over her, guard her against evil influences, and bring her to the knowledge of that INFLUENCE. 213 gospel truth without which no life can be good, no des- tiny haplpy. Thus reasoning, he escorted her to the theatre night after night, and gave to her all the leisure he could spare from exacting duties to others. He miscalculated. She, at twenty, a natured woman, experienced in the world, taught in the best school for the world's teaching-the theatre, and an accom- plished actress besides, the tact and artifices of her woman's nature perfected by special education: he, at eighteen, at best a manly boy, reared in ]iulmble life, with shallow knowledge of the world, and no experience out- side of his mother's house, his church, and Munnypen & Co.'s counting house,--Which would be most likely to influence the other, Estelle or Egbert?" Fascinated, flattered, in, truth, by the tender interest :and undisguised preference with which she turned from no undistinguished crowd of admirers to Aim, the youth, the uncourtly son of a sailor father, her power entered into his very soul, and had not his heart been given up to the keeping of heaven, would have moulded it anew to her tastes- fancies, thoughts and opinions. That power, although conquered at every vital point, effected, nev- elrtheless, a visible change in Egbert's lmanners, and caused a temporary wavering at least in his religious principles. The "plain" young man passed with a presto move- llent into the well-dressed, well-carried gentleman., Some natures are, his eminently was, capable of such accom- plishments. A few weeks after his eighteenth birth-d:ay sufficed to give the external polish the world admires; and even the fastidious Estelle could no longer doubt his ready appreciation by any fashionable clique, whether truly refined or merely pretentious. '1 , . page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 "THE JULIA." This change, in itself considered, was for the better, at least not for the worse. But did it indicate nothing wrong within? no worldly flavor to his thoughts? no tendency to a sinful conformity to this world? no change in the mental and moral character? The men of'fashion and pleasure to whom he was inevitably introduced, though not to terms of intimacy; the persons loose in notions of morality, if not in deeds of wrvong, with whom he now came in contact: was there no contamination in even a casual intercourse with such? The nights at the theatre from which he returned home excited, bewildered, fatigued, did not they help to con- fuse his ideas and blunt his perceptions of whait was realy good and Clhristian-like? There were questionings on these points in his own conscience. And he could not wholly conceal from himself the painful facts, that he read his Bible wearily, visited the poor with ungraceful haste, listened to Mr. Foster's sermons with a wandering mind, tired of his Sundiay school duties, and lost the savory pleasantness he used to find in teachers' meetings and similar associations with pious young men. Could he help doubting if all were right? He tried to. And Estelle, did she profit by his influence as he hoped? Yes, to love him, but not his Saviour. She, the woman of the world,'the actress, predisposed in his favor, and charmed with the simplicity, sense, honesty and whole- some goodness that she had never found in men as hand- some, and more polished, suffered the sisterly affection with which she had welcomed him as the only friend of her childhood, to pass into a love exceeding the bounds of mere gratitude and sisterly interest. Did he know this? Certainly not with tangible, de- fined knowledge. But had he asked his heart, a flutter- INFLUENCE. 215 ing, gratified, perturbed sense of something there, might have given puzzling answers on a sharp cross-examination. And sometimes he was startled by catching a glimpse of Carrie Foster's face, with a sad, doubtful look' upon it, peering up from among his troubled thoughts! page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] XXIII. EIGHT weeks after Egbert's birthday, the arrival of t the Julia was chronicled. That night Egbert must excuse himself to Estelle for the sake of his other friend, Captain White. He called for the purpose on his way home from Munnypen & Co.'s. On the stairs in the hotel Egbert observed a man whom he had seen before, but did not know. An elderly man; a handsome man., but for a sort of madLe-up appearance, owing chiefly to a wig and partly to gaiters, and partly again to a flashy display of jewelry. "Egbert!!" ' Es3telle!" were scarcely said by the friends, when a servant presented a card. "Engaged!" cried Estelle, peremptorily. "Tell him I am engaged." The half-opened door opened wider. The nian Egbert had seen on the stairs entered. He must have heard the message given to the servant, yet he advanced with una- bashed self-possession. I venture on our-intimacy, you perceive, Miss Sal- tore," he said. "Stella, the brightest; star in the firma- ment, cannot be hid. The radiance of your presence shone even through the crevice of the door, and my pa- tience would not tarry for a formal announcement." (216) THE BRIG TrELEGRAPHED. 217 Estelle did not look radiant with pleasure at these com- pliments. Indeed a slight curl of the lip indicated some very different feeling, and a heightened color testified ;o some hidden agitation. But her self command did not desert her, and she greeted her visitor with due courtesy. The gentleman looked at Egbert, and then inquiringly at Estelle, as much as to say, " who is your friend?"But Es- telle did not choose to answer the look; and Egbert put an introduction out oftlhe question, by walking away to the firthest window. The gentleman kept his eye fixed on Egbert, while he talked with Estelle. She left the con- versation in his hands, and when he had exhausted ordi- nary common-places, he brought his short visit to a ter- mination, and bowed hirmself out of the room. Estelle. watched him out. "Please shut that dooir," she said to Egbert. "I cannot breathe the same air with that man." ' Yet he .seenms to b e on intimate terms." She made no response. "You called him ' Blanche,' did you not?" "Yes. Why? Whatinterest have you in that lname?" she asked, turning her keen eye on him as if she would read him through. "Have I expressed any?" he asked; and yet the color deepened in his cheek as he spoke-for he had an interest in that name that he would not have liked to have told to Estelle Saltore. She did not answer, but continued iooking at him, and her expression changed from an eager, anxious scrutin y to a very sober and even sad look. "What are you thinking of, Estelle?" asked Egbert., "Of you." "And what of ne?" 10 page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 "THE JULIA."' "That there is great fear you will not always be what you now are-so tiue, so honest, so thoroughly good!" "'There is none good,' Estelle, our Bible says." '"I do not believe it. I know otherwise," she exclaimed impatiently. Egbert was shocked. "I fear, Estelle," he said gently; "you never read the Bible, or have read it very care- lessly. Else you would have learned that its asser- tions enter into the innermost coivictions of the soul. Its truths, read without prejudice, do not allow doubt. They command assent. Belief is inevitable." "I have not read the Bible often or attentively; cer- tainly not enough to arrive at that miraculous experience of its power," she replied with some pique; for she did not fancy his implied rebuke. "You will read it?" he asked, gently and earnestly. "If you will teach me its meaning," she replied, smnil- ing--for she was touched by his interest-" it is full of dark mysteries." "Estelle, I wish you would not lean on me so. When we were children, I knew more than you; and it was natural that you should look up to me. Now our rela- tive position is changed. Do not forget that. I tremble when I think how implicitly you "trust me. I'believe you would do anything for me, save one." "And what is that exception?" "Leave the stage." -"Would you have me?" , "Most certainly." "I fancied your prejudices were yielding to a wiser judgment." "My judgment certainly is better informed, but decid- edly adverse to your profession, Estelle." THE BR IG TELEGRAPHED. 219' "I have avoided argument on this subject, Egbert, preferring to leave the result to your own common sense and observation. But since your notions are so invete- rate, let us discuss it fully aid frankly. Convince me that you. are right, and I pledge myself to act accord- ingly." "I, too, have avoided argument. We have each acted, perhaps, from the same motive, the fear that the other would argue himself or herself more firmly into his or her previous opinion. I am not sure whether it would be wise to change our tactics. At any rate I cannot enter on the subject now. The Julia has arrived. My friend, Cap- tain White, will spend the evening at Jhome; and, of course, I must ask you to spare me for this once." "Bring Captain White here with you," she said, eag- erly. "I long to see him." "N Not to night, his first at home. Another time, say to-morrow evening, I will, if-". he hesitated. "If?" she asked, impatiently. "You will let me tell him, only him, your story," he added reluctantly. She colored, and spoke angrily. "To explain to him your intimacy with an actress?" He replied not, only looked concerned and sorry that he had offended. She relented. "If you can be sure he will not make the story gossip, you may tell him. Your friend must be mine. Farewell. I shall miss you." "And ] shall hardly know myself in my quiet .home once more. My thoughts will wander off to the theatre, and I shall fancy you in each striking attitude, and my own throbbing heart will echo the loud applauses. Good night." . page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 "THE JULIA." It was well that Egbert did not comprehend how :Es- telle's heart throbbed at these last words; nor know that they inspired her that night to exceed her ordinary suc- cess. He only read in the papers the next day, with some pique, such extravagant laudations of Stella's act- ing, as proved, he thought, that his presence was not essential to her inspiration. Egbert, when hastening home from Estelle's, was sur- prised by Mr. Blanche. That gentleman, apparently waiting for him in the street, encountered, stopped, and addressed him. "Mr: Hartsum, I believe?" "Yes, sir," wondering how he came by his name. " Will you confer upon me the favor of stepping in here for one moment2' Egbert followed him mechanically into a four-story brick house, up one flight of stairs, and into a parlor com- fortably furnished. "These are my rooms," said Mr. Blanche. ' I board at the hotel, opposite; but here I sleep and receive my friends, and wishing to count you among that number, I take the liberty of at once introducing you into my quarters. You will know where to find me. Be seated. Here is sherry, madeira, good wine, the best, which will you take? Neither? Something stronger then, brandy? No, nothing at all? Oh! that will not do! I insist upon it: just a drop to inaugurate our acquaintance, friendship, I hope I may say." Egbert had answered in monosyllables. Finding it ne- cessary to be more explicit, he assured Mr. Blanche that he never drank anything; had never indeed tastedliquor. Mr. Blanche laughed incredulously. "Yes, I under- stand. We will know each other better." And seating THE BRIG TELEGRAPHED. 221 himself in his chair, he eyed the wine dancing in his glass and indulged in short chuckles of laughter between every swallow, as if in each he saw and tasted a nice bit of comedy. Egbert waited with impatience till the glass was exhausted, and then sat silent aid expectant, anxious to hear the immediate purpose for which he had been inveigled there. Mr. Blanche was in no hurry to gratify him. He shoved his chair into a position directly oppo- site Egbert's, eyed him and seemed to be drinking him up by swallows and chuckling over him, as he had eyed and drunk and chuckled over the wine; taking dainty mouthfuls of fun out of him, and shutting his eyes andl chuckling between each. At last he spoke, without in any other way changing his manner. "Yes, yes, I see,-ha! ha!-sly, very!--ha! ha!-- Munnypen & Co.'s clerk, pious, church member, Sunday schopl and all that!-ha! ha! ha !-tec-total, too, never drinks, oh! no,-ha t ha!-I see, young man, I see. We will know each other yet!"And this time he indulged in a prolonged series of chuckles, without interrupting them with tasty mouthfuls of remarks. "You seem to know more of me, sir, than I do of you," said Egbert, with angry dignity. "Yes," was the answer, spoken with an air of candor. "I have known you some time; know all at Munnypen & Co.'s: though I had rather they were not aware of it. You will not mention it, please. And yet I never really understood you till to-day."- 'I believe not," said Egbert, drily. "No, for once I acknowledge myself the victim of in- nocence." '"I do not understand you," said Egbert, becoming more and more puzzled. page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] !2 "CTHE JULIA." "INo? really though? You mean you do not trust me," he added, seriously. Egbert looked only more perplexed. ' "Come, now," he went on coaxingly. . There is no use of being on the sly. We shall agree' together." "If you attach .any sense to that disagreeable word you have twice used, I think we shall never agree," re- sponded Egbert, indignantly, and rose to go. "Wait one moment, please," and MAr. Blanche politely pressed him into his seat again. ' We shall agree in this, I think, that Stella is glorious?" Egbert nodded an impatient assent. "And that," continued Mr. Blanche, with provoking deliberation, 'you have improved your acquaintance rapidly? Have got, you and she, to using each other's Christian names already?" Egobert reddened. ' You are impertinent, sir!"' he exclaimed. "Do not be angry with me," interposed Mr. Blanche, obligingly. "Nothing is farther from my purpose than to say anything offensive. The fact is, (I am a man of business, Mr. Hzartsum,) I called you in here to ask you to engage with me in a little transaction of a business nature: the amount of -iwhich is to say to you, that-you are poor, eh?" Egbert did not deny the impeachment. "Could spend more money than you have?" "Certainly." "And are already a little, just a little we know," Mr. Blanche lowered. his voice into a confidential tone, " in debt." Egbert colored. he was a little, very little, a few dol- lars only, in debt. He was ashamed of it and mortified THE BRIG TELEGRAPHED. 223 that this stranger knew it; and mistaking the stress laid on the diminutive " little," intended to make it significant of a great deal, Egbert really supposed that Mr. Blanche knew the exact amount of his indebtedness. That gen- tleman saw his advantage. "Yes," he said, " these sort of things are expensive to young gentlemen in your situation. I see, we begin to know each other. And now you will take a glass of wine? only one for good understanding's sake?" I told you, sir, I never drink," Egbert answered with more vehemence than courtesy. Mr. Blanche looked disappointed. "Ah, well," he said, " we shall know each other yet." "You have not mentioned that matter of business you hinted at," said Egbert, rising again froni his chair and half raising his hat to his head, as in haste to be gone. "It is not much. At least we do not know each other. well enough yet. I will only say now, that knowing you better than you know me, as you yourself observed a moment since, and suspecting that you do or will need my assistance; I wish you to regarid me as a friend. Stop in sometimes and smoke a segar with me." Egbert inti- mated his innocence of that habit by a shake of the head. "Not smoke, either? Ah, well. Come and talk, then. I am not as young as I used to be; but remembering what I was, I love to see and hear and help, too, young men. I have had experience, you know; am a good and safe one to counsel with. And, with regard to yourself, I feel a peculiar interest. Therefore' I hope you will esteem me as a very particular friend." Egbert regarding this is as a finale, for what more could be said after this extraordinary precipitation of friendship, smiled to think that at last he could go, and page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 "TIIE JULIA." was bowing himself politely out of the room and at the same time out of the awkward dilemma of having to reply to Mr. Blanche's proffer of friendship; but Mr. Blanche, mistaking the smile for one of acquiescence, arrested him again, and rubbing his hands witn pleasure, as good diplomatists ever do when self-complacent in view of the success of wily measures, spoke again. ' Mr. Hartsum, when you know me better, and can give me your entire confidence, and are not in a hurry as I see you are this evening,'? he paused, giving an op- portunity for Egbert to assert that he was not in a hurry, but able to resume his seat, which that young gentleman did not avail himself of, " then," continued Mr. Blanche, cautiously, "I may make a proposition which will put you in the way, at the same time, of doing me and yourself a service, yourself especially, by increasing your means, your funds, you know; indeed, I may venture to say, will put you in the way of making a fortune!" Mr. Blanche -watched anxiously for the effect of this information. Nothing was apparent on the young man's face but perplexed surprise; and his answer was very cool and non-committal. "I thank you for any kind intentions; shall always be ready to consider when you are ready to propose. Good evening." He was this time out of the room and on the stairs, with a determination to be gone beyond the power of Mr. Blanche's detention. "Farewell," that gentleman called after him. "Come and see an old fellow, sometimes. Do!" Egbert, as he regained the street and drew a long breath, as one might who had escaped some imminent peril, resolved that he never would go voluntarily to see the " old fellow," as he dubbed himself. He did not un- THE BRIG TELEGRAPUED. 225 derstand him and did not like him. "How could he know of that debt?" he asked, anxiously. It was a small matter, but gave him great uneasiness. For the first time he had exceeded his income; could soon pay it; yet it rested on his tender conscience as a heavy burden, be- cause he had transgressed a principle and rule which he had adopted for life, never to go in debt. Most keen was his chagrin at the discovery that others knew of his em- barrassment. Arrived at his own door Cle' flew to meet him, with the announcement, "He's come, he's come! What has kept you so late?" Hurrying past the kitchen door, Sally poked her head out. "You've come at last, have ye? Well, tea's spilt a waiting, and capt'n's cross as two sticks, 'kase you're not hum." Thus prepared, Egbert was able to anticipate the cap- tain's probable outhurst of anger. "It was not my fault, Sweeny," he exclaimed, on entering the front basement room; "I could not get home a moment earlier." The cloud that had been gathering on the captain's face dispersed at the first sound of Bertie's voice; and the two friends met with a warmth and vehemence of emr brace that only such friends may use. "Grown," said the captain, surveying Egbert from head to foot. "Improved every way, I can see at a glance. A little vain, too, eh? judging by dress; a little touch of dandyism sprouting in that mustache." "Bertie, vain! How funny!" exclaimed Cle', seeing only absurdity in the allegation of any fault against her brother. Mrs' Hartsum sat behind her teapot, looking very 10* page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 "'THE, JULIA.' sober. The captain defected her look and thought it the anxiety of a careful housewife to have a long waiting meal dispatched; so, by his suggestion, they at once sat down at the table. The conversation turned, as was natural, on the voyage and its incidents and its success as a mercantile venture. Egbert waited till the table was cleared and all were quiet before asking the question he longed to put. "Our missionaries, Sweeny; what of them?" t "Here are letters from them to yourself." Egbert re- ceived and laid them aside, to be read at the first leisure moment. ' "Woald that I could give you a just idea of those good people and their lives; a graphic picture of one day in their compound would be worth a volume of sermons on practical christianity. By a happy Providence their lot has been cast together. Those who sailed with us in t!le Julia on that memorable voyage, all reside in the same compound. Mr. Strong lives with Dr. De Seiple; Mr. Small and Mr. James and their families in neighboli ing bungalows. Mr. Strong, though I am sorry to say, his health is far from good, is still the ruling, the wonder- fully inspiring spirit of the company. No one can tell how it is. Mild, quiet, simplicity itself, yet he kindles fire in the hearts of others, and governs by a legitimate right to command, never exercised with an air of authority, but always sensibly and persuasively felt by all that come in contadt with him. All are harmonious-all are active, An outside observer might not discern anything remark- able in the work at that station. But one who passes a week there, and has the opportunity of observation I had, and has ordinary powers of. discrimination, cannot fail to perceive that an earnest, persevering, absorbing work TIE BrIC TELEGRAPHED. 227 employs every heart and hand. Each member of the mission is fully engaged. The talent of each finds some app'opriate sphere. Even Mrs. James, who promised less than any of the number to be useful, has exceeded all expectations. It is somewhat remarkable that she has been more successful in the immediate object of the mis- sion, the conversion of heathen, than either of the other ladies. She seems to uniderstand the Hindoo girls and win their confidence and love more readily than the systematic and energetic Mrs. Small, or the intellectual and cultivated' Mrs. De Seiple. But her desires and ef- forts exceed her strength, and it is evident that her feeble constitution must soon yield to the Indian climate. Yet, for all, the work seems hopeless. It is a pleasant work. It stimulates one to see the missionaries so cou- rageously and persistently, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, pursuing their labor. But it seems like trying to break a mountain of rock in. pieces with a tack-hammer. A little crumb of rock now and again falls. off. But what is that to the whole mass? A child converted; a poor Pariah bap- tized; a family here and there brought over. But what is this to an empire petrified in heathenism? Hear the missionaries at their prayers, and your hope is kindled. Go out and look at the mountain which they are seeking to move, and your hope dies. Examine their work, and you are convinced it is a good work. Examine the ob- jects of that work, and you are almost' as well convinced that it is a fruitless work. I see you smiling at me, Bertie. You doubt if I -am a proper judge of missionaries and their work. I concede the doubt. I am not. I admire those men and women, and am proud to' call them our' missionaries, the Julia's first convoy to that heathen land. V.,,Y,-UdlBIY page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 "THE JULIA." But I have not their faith. I do not see with their eyes and understand with their minds. But now of yourselves, and especially you, Bertie. What has happened to you?" The evening passed with friendly talk and news-mon- gering. At last the family retired. Egbert remained alone in the basement room to read his letters from India. They were full of pious thoughts and' counsels; and as he read them, and recalled what Sweeny had said of the writers, he became conscious that his own heart had grown cold and faithless of late in regard to those things which are not seen and are eternal. Misgivings, that had been felt, "but not entertained, now took definite form. He reflected, he examined himself; and with pain and shame he found that he was no longer as once he could have averred, unstained with worldliness and guiltless of sinful folly. The theatre-it had occupied his thoughts- and wasted his better energies. The hour spent at midnight in that deserted room was the most profitable hour he had known in eight weeks past. XXIV. ( JN a hurry, Bertie?" asked his sister, as he rose from ] the table. "I am going out this evening," he answered. "Hardly came in last evening till after tea time, and now the second night go out before tea is well over. Your welcome. is cold," said Captain White, moodily. "I wish and expect you to go with me," Egbert replied. "Thank you," was the answer, crossly spoken. "I had rather stay home." "I, too, shall stay with you, then." Oh, do not put yourself out for me, I am used to being alone; have not so many friends that I miss their company." "You shall not miss mine, any way," said Egbert, pleasantly. "I shall spend the evening wherever you do. I had no thought of running away from you." "Oh, yes!" said Cle', "all stay at home. That will be grand!" "But, Sweeny," Egbert remarked, "I have a particular reason for wishing you to go out with me for an hour or so. We need not be longer, and can have a long even- ing at home after that. Will you oblige me?" (229) page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 230 "THE JULIA." Captain White caught a glimpse of something in Mrs. hartsum's face which said "go," so he assented. Cle' concluded that this plan would suit her best after all, for she wanted to see Fanny, and they would take her there, perhaps, and call for her again on their way home, if it would not inconvenience them. They Would be most happy to do so, they said. Cle' flew out of the room to get ready, singing as she went. The captain sent a sardonic smile after her, that seemed to say, "What a silly thing always to be pleased!" "Come up stairs, captain," said Egbert, peremptorily. "What for?" "No matter what for, but come," and Egbert, taking , candle in one hand, stood holding the door open with he other. "You seem disposed to order me about as if you were captain.'" "I am captain here. You lose command as soon as you leave the Julia. So obey orders. Up and be spry! But Egbert's laugh died off into something like a sigh, for he remembered too well who had once been captain at home and on the Julia too. "What are you about, Bertie?" asked the captain, when that young gentleman, the moment he entered his bed-room, began the impetuous removal of his outer gar- ments. "I am going to dress." "Undress, I should say," retorted his friend. "And you must obey commands," resumed Egbert, and don your best suit." "What for?" "Because you are going to see ladies." "I have seen ladies at home, and if I have passed 231 THE FRIENDS. 2 muster with them, I am presentable to any of your lady friends, I judge." "No, you are not. There is a difference. The ladies you are to be presented to will be themselves in full dress; and-. But I may as well tell you where I am going, and then you will understand." Egbert sat down on the bed. Well aware that the announcement he was about to make would call forth some expression of astonishment, he was embarrassed in choosing the least startling mode of presenting it. "You have heard of Stella?" he asked, kicking the boot he had just taken off. "Stella, the fanous actress? . Of course I have. She is here, I see, by the play-bills. I was thinking to-day, that, if it would not vex you, I would go an see her perform. You would not go yourself, of course, on any account, and perhaps would not like me to." "I have been, though!" said Egbert, with a whimnsi cally vain and meek attempt to put a bold face on the matter. Captain White was petrifying him with a look of sur- prise, of which he was perfectly cognizant, though he never raised his own eyes to meet it: he did not see it, but he felt it: and his heightened color and choaking voice answered it. "And what is more," he added, with an effort, "I in- tend to introduce you to Stella, or to Estelle Saltore, for that is her name off of the stage. The truth was ot and he felt relieved and spoke more complacently. This is her reception evening. There will be a large company. Crowded rooms. Splendid women, brilliant, beautif l! So you must dress. Come!" iHe resumed his own toilet with new alacrity. page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 'TnIE JULIA."' Captain White's countenance had grown grave as Egbert's became bright. He in his turn took his seat on the bed, and spoke very deliberately and seriously. "I do not know about this, Bertie. I have not your scruples, or those you used to have about theatres and such things; and I will not disguise the truth that I would like to see this actress so famous for her beauty and her genius. But I do not like the change that has come over you. Sotnehow, while I could never see the harm of going to a theatre once and a while, I was pleased that you did not go. You seemed so pure, so good, so free of blame or the appearance of evil! And now to find, not only that you attend theatrical performances, but are intimate with an actress,-" "I do not wonder at your surprise," interrupted Eg- bert, and then added, speaking apologetically, "It is strange even to me. Seems like a dream sometimes. And it has all come about in a very singular way. Estelle has given me permission to tell you all about it." 'Estelle! ' "repeated the captain. "You call her by her first name. Is that your usual mode of speaking of her?" Yes. Both of her and to her. We are very inti- mate." "Worse and worse! Bertie, I am not your father, but I was his friend. I am not even your brother, but I am your friend. And I am older and a great deal more ex- perienced in the world than you are. I never expected to have to watch over your character, but rather looked up to you for help to :form my own. But I cannot let this go on. Especially since your mother has commended you to my care. Bertie, your mother has been talking to me to-day about you." THE FRIENDS. 233 Egbert looked surprised, and almost incredulous. It was so unlike his mother to talk to any one confidentially of him! "Yes," continued the captain; "she says she cannot repress her anxiety for you, in spite of her great confi- dence ini you. She says, you are out every night, and come home late; and what distresses her most is, you never tell her where you have been and avoid answering when interrogated. And she fears, too, that you have been guilty of extravagance, at least in matters of dress. "Mother said all that-and never a word to me? "Yes. She thought it best. She, could not pain you with suspicions which in her heart she believed ground- -less; and then, too, perhaps, she had a woman's fears, that if anything were wrong you would resent interfer- ence and grow perverse. And now, Bertie, after what your mother las said, and you yourself have told me, you may believe, that i cannot help doubting whether you have escaped all bad habits. At. any rate I cannot approve of this acquaintance with an actress.", "See her first and judge for yourself," interposed Egbert. "No, no. I will not go with you." "You will; you must; if only to satisfy mother. I can tell you what I may not communicate to her; and she will be satisfied with your assurances." "V What can you tell me?" "How I became acquainted, and why I am so intimate with Stella, the actress." Wl" te, ten tell me; how was it? Why is it?" "No, not now. I wish you to see and judge her, un- prejudiced by her story. Besides it is time we went. Cle' is impatient and calling now-Yes, Cle'," he sung page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 '"THE JULIA." out from the entry, "'we shall be ready soon. Come, you are going?" he said to the captain, coming back into the room, and resuming his own toilet with renewed energy. The captain neither answered nor moved. "Your going, or not going," argued Egbert, "will not affect -my intimacy with Estelle Saltore. Surely, if you intend to become mymentor, as you seem disposed to do, you had better see and judge my acquaintance and habits for yourself: especially since I am so willing to open the way for your investigation. It seems due to me, since I aver that I have nothing to conceal from you, nothing to be ashamed of!" "That is true, Bertie," exclaimed the captain, bright- ening up; "and I cannot believe you are doing anything wrong. You always seemed so good. Do you remem- ber when you asked me if I thought you an imp?" "And you answered," said Egbert, laughing, " that I was either too great a fool to be an imp, or something too good for any mere man to be!" "Or a good angel, I said you were. Yes, and I have always kept to that opinion, Bertie.": "That I am either a fool or-" "No; the alternative only. Oh, Bertie, I can sin and love those that sin: but would die sooner than have you become less than I have always esteemed you to be." Egbert smiled and blushed too, not merely because of the compliment, but because he remembered his last night's thoughts, and knew that he had wavered in his blamelessness of thought and life. He appealed again to the captain to change his dress; and this time not in vain. It was one of Captain White's peculiarities that he delighted in -being well-dressed. The idea of being a gentleman never forsook him and TTHE FRIENDS. 235 sought expression in his outer-man. Even on the deck of the Julia, in the midst of the ocean, his dress was ex- act, immaculate, and becoming. This evening his toilet was as thorough as Bertie's, though, as he himself re- marked, a newer suit than his, three-years-old-best might be more appropriate to the occasion. They went. Brilliant, indeed, as Egbert had said, were the rooms, Numerous was the company; the men most so, and much the better part. The women were a little open to criticism in point of overdress and under-refine- ment; and were all actresses, either professional or not. Among the mcn were representatives of the first class, according to society's classification; but they were there without their wives, daughters, and sisters. Estelle Saltore never looked handsomer than at the moment when Egbert introduced Captain White. Her whole soul beamed in her eyes upon her friend's friend. Her powers of fascination were at once brought into ac- tion against this reserved, cross-looking sea-captain, whom not another person in that company, save Egbert, would have adjudged worthy a second thought. It had been her habit of late to keep Egbert Hartsum near her- self, and never seem forgetful of his presence even when engaged with others, but would fall back on him, irilhy interval of conversation, with an evident sense of relief and pleasure, as if she were but acting a part with all but him: polite for politeness' sake, agreeable and enchant- ing for her own sake, to all others; to him alone perfectly natural, and with him always happy. To-night, how- ever, Egbert was overlooked. Estelle gave every second word and thought, that could be spared from mere com- pany, to the yellow-faced, yellow-whiskered captain, who, with. a perpetual frown on his brow, and a proud, self- page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 "T HE JULIA.", sustained bearing, seemed to every one else repulsive and forbidding. Egbert found himself sitting on a sofa, in a quiet cor- ner, absorbed in thinking about nothing. He fanciedc that he was acting upon the resolves of last night and not permitting himself to be carried away by the spirit and levity and worldliness. He did not perceive that his present inaction was the involuntary result of Estelle's neglect. But Egbert was not to be left alone long. He was aroused by some one's hailing, him, as "My young friend." It was Mr. Blanche, and that gentleman delibe- rately seated himself beside " his young friend." "Quite dejected to-night, I perceive," observed Mr. Blanche, in a tone of raillery. "Cut out by that sallow, morose-looking chap? or thinking about that little debt, perhaps?" Egbert vouchsafed no answer. He acted as if he neither understood, nor cared to understand his self-styled friend. But Mr. Blanche was not to be baulked. "We will know each other yet." And then falling into a conversational style, he uttered the following aph- orisms. "Money, Mr. Hartsum, is a great need in our "Pleasure is costly." "Young men must have funds i, As neither of these wise sayings drew Egbert out, Mr. Blanche became more familiar. "Look at that elegant creature, promenading yonder. She carries herself as if she did not value what she wore a pin. ,Yet that dress, those jewels, cost some one a little fortune. A man can- not get along with these dear creatures without money, you know." Mr. Blanche talked on, and Egbert did him the grace THnE F IE NDS. 237 to seem to listen, but scarcely cared to understand him, having come in fact to the conclusion that he was an incomprehensible man. "Fortunately," continued Mr. Blanche, "there are many expedients for raising the wind. Young nmen, even' clerks like yourself, can make fortunes now-a-days, and do."- "Indeed," said Egbert. "Oh, yes, easily." "I should not think it so very easy, at least for me, to make a fortune." "Quite so, quite so, my young friend. For instance- I have your attention." Yes"-withdrawing his eyes and thoughts from a neighboring coterie of chatterers, towards whom they had wandered-"You were about to remark how clerks make fortunes." "Yes, exactly. A confidential clerk, suppose; one who signs the name of the firm and does its banking busi- ness; such a clerk learns of a sure investment-draws 'a note-renews it before maturity-gradually diminishes its amount by the profits of the business he has embaried in-and finally cancels it. A chance thus improved soon leads to the possession of a capital and the clerk becn'es in time a millionaire." "Having first proved himself a rogue and rascal," said Egbert, contemptuously. "That is as you choose," Mr. Blanche politely re- marked, shrugging his shoulders. "I was only saying how the thing is managed. And after all, no one loses by the operation. No harm is done. The name of the firm has been used without their knowledge, but not to their injury. And the clerk has become a rich man! page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] ULIA.6' THE FRI]I ar are done in this world by men esteemed loung friend. And young men must have ,ts must be paid !" ked at him as he spoke and said to himself, aloud, "That man is a rascal and thinks I ad with mingled feelings of indignation and :>se fioni his seat, and Without one word, or his purpose, Walked away to the opposite omn as far as he could get from so distasteful e and Egbert, on the sofa, had not been Estelle, conversing with Captain White, .rentlemran giving such random answers as 'e-occupied mind. Following the direction :e found them fixed on that particular sofa. ii, careless whether answered or not, but ,ely all the while the captain's face. At his attention by a touch of her fan, she be- 'ation. ::he, I--" exclaimed the captain, in a startled :)ined Estelle, with a droll mockery of his you-you" he stamnered. Ls about to say something very alarming ?" playfully. "'Not at all. I was only about ptain White, that Mr. Blanche, I perceive, our friend iMr. Hartsum, and we had bet- elief. There, he has extricated himself now, :leed our intervention." fitted herself to become engaged with oth- lid not lose sight of the captain. Egbert THE FRIENDS. 239 soon after found the captain, where Estelle too saw him, sitting on that sofa in the corner, beside Mr. Blanche, and conversing with him with the polite reserve and show of affability that one stranger, thrown casually with i aiother in a promiscuous company, might affect. On their way home Egbert would have related to the captain the story of the actress; but the captain mnani- fested no desire to hear it. He was thoughtful and ab- stracted, gave random answers to the remarks of his companion, and quickly lapsed again into silence. The next day the story was told. Captain White lis- tened to it attentively. Egbert waited impatiently for his comments. "Well," he asked at. last, "what have you to say now of my intimacy with Estelle Forrester ?" " That it must not continue," was the' answer, delibe- rately and decidedly enunciated. "I thought you would appreciate her excellence," said Egbert, reproachfully. 'I do. I admire her as a splendid and fascinating woman, and already esteem her as a good woman, with elevated thoughts and aspiring purposes, the more admir- able because unusual in the sphere in which she moves. She is as grand and extraordinary in her character as in her talent and beauty. Nor must she be judged as the woman who voluntarily forsakes the privacy of re- fined domestic life to seek publicity on the stage. She never knew the former, she was educated for the latter. She never felt those scruples and doubts in regard to the theatrical world, to overcome which in itself argues, in good men's judgments, something of a fall. But be she never so exalted, the life she leads and all the associa- tions of her theatrical career are full of danger. The page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 ".THE JULIA." very atmosphere she breathes is infectious. Consider,- dear boy, the character of the society in which she moves. Polite as a general rule, brilliant occasionally, but always undevout, worldly, earthly; at war in all its sentiments, if they be closely scanned, with an earnest Christianity, and its whole style, its very mannerisms, uilike the idea which tie Bible gives us of holy men and women. Con- fess if you have not already found even a casual and. slight intercourse with these persons affecting your judg- ment and tastes, bewildering your perceptions of right ind wrong where they were once clear and decided, and disinclining you to the performance of duties that you once relished?" Egbert could not deny it, and his friend, not wmiting for any other information than his silence signified, continued, "If already you have experienced this, what entire change in your views, feelings and character may not a continued intimacy with persons of this sort effect? Oh! Egbert, I am not good myself, but I cannot bear that you should not be. I look upon the least change in you with jealousy. I would have kept you always, if possible, the plain, unvarnished, straightforward, simple-hearted, brave, honest, pious-boy you used to be." Egbert was affected by the warmith of his friend's ex- pressions, and by the seriousness of sentiments he had never heard him utter before, and which seemed to be, indeed, at variance with his usual habits of life and modes of thought, or at least of his spoken thoughts. Egbert could not dissent from his friend's conclusion, that he ought not to maintain the terms of intimacy which had existed between himself and Estelle Forrester.' Yet, as she was to leave the city in a fortnight, he THE FRIENDS. 241 pleaded this as an excuse for continuing, to visit her and act as her escort for the present. Any other course mirlht savor of rudeness and unkindness. When she re- turned again, if she ever should, he could adopt such cautions as might be necessary. The captain reluctantly gave llis assent to this and resolved to keep a watchful eye over them both. " page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] XXV. H OW we over-estimate ourselves and our powers! The young man of twenty-three constituting him- self the guardian of the young man of eighteen, against the attractions of a young woman of twenty, of extra- ordinary beauty and talent! Shall he guard his own heart as well? Surly and unsocial, Captain White was not surly and unsocial in the presence of Estelle Forrester, Withl her he was ccnversible, genial, piquant, facetious, elo- quent. Theirs were kindred natures. They talked to- gether as few ever talk, pouring out the treasures of minds well stored ,with knowledge and teeming with new and original thoughts. Often Egbert sat listening as one enchanted, forgetful of himself and forgotten by others, Egbert, indeed fell back into a secondary position in relation to Estelle; not that her interest in him seemed an iota less, but she was more occupied with l's friend. He did not regret this., since it facilitated his purpose of escaping from influences that imperilled his character and his usefulness. He rejoiced, moreover, in the hope that his friend, who had dealt so plainly with him, would tear the veil from the mind of Estelle herself and discover to her the wrong to men's souls done in that world which she loved with passion and helped to adorn and render (242) ,. THE MENTOR. 243 attractive. Suetonius White, suspicious and crabbedly misanthropical, was sure to look upon the dark side of the gay world, and most mercilessly did he expose its delinquencies and deformities. He stripped off its dis- guises; he showed the human heart beating with despe- rate wickedness underneath all its show of outward refinements and proprieties. He plainly showed that tendencies to evil lurk under much fair seeming and as- sumption of good. Especially, with the skill of an adept in human nature, he painted all that was hollow, false, corrupting and ruinous in the tainted atmosphere of a theatrical life; yet all this with such' manifest respect for the actress herself such an appreciation of her art, as, an art, and such manly and decorous seriousness of manner, that Estelle Forrester could not resent his opinions, how- ever she might deny his conclusions and strive to refute thenm. But what most sarprised and pleased Egbert was, that whenever, religious truth was questioned, -his friend invariably maintained. the strictest, soundest and. most spiritual views of Christianity. The man whom the world mocked at was his saint. The weakish good- ness whiclY the world applauds, he scorned, and set forth against it such a practical life of godliness as a Puritan divine of the seventeenth century might have stood por- trait for. "How comes it that you are such a theologian, Sweeny?" asked Egbert one night as they were on their way home, after having escorted Estelle Forrester from the theatre to her hotel. "It comes by study both of men and books." Sea captains do not often embrace theology in their studies," remarked Egbert, "and I should not have ex- page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244. "Tii IIE JULIA." pected you to be specially attracted by that which most unprofessional men esteem themselves excused from pur- suing further than the verbal repetition of a catechism." "I am indeblted to you for my theological knowledge, Egbert. You set me to thinking and observing; the missionaries on board the Julia next came under my in- spection; afterwards your father; then the sermons of Mr. Foster instructed me, and finally the admirable selection of books with which Captain Hartsum provided the library of the Julia." You began," said Egbert, " by accrediting me with your theological education, but my share in it; I perceive, has been very small." "But for you," answered the- captain, seriously, (' I never would have sought other sources of correct know- ledge. It was the light of your piety that first convinced me there was somewhere a source of divine and celestial splendor. So, Bertie, let your light shine; suffer it not to be obscured by mists of worldliness and sin. Your light may be enabling others to read tomes of theology, that you yourself cannot understand, or dispersing dark- ness from the paths of your fellow-creatures, such as you have never dreamed of. Let your light shine; that light which is God's shining in the soul, through the' life. The light which is bright only when it comes direct and efful- gent from the great sun of righteousness. The world gets between God and the Christian and obscures his light. He that is conformed to this world lives in the world's shadows, at best, under a constant eclipse, but he that is tranformed in the image of his mind, lives in God's sunlight, always a bright and shining light him- self." "Captain White," said Egbert, in a spirit of good-hu- / ' . s \il 577f THE MENTOR. 245 lmored raillery, half serious, half jest, "you have preached an excellent sermon for a man who has just come from the theatre and laughed at a play where the sneer at good and holy men was hardly disguised!" "You are justly severe," replied the captain. "'I have no right to preach. I, who am not a Christian, and yet understand so well what a Christian should be. But, as regards you, Bertie, this theatre-going and intimacy with professional players must be stopped. The pure gold is in your heart, and must not, be dimmed. The very play you allude to proves the antagonism between the world and the church. If its sarcasms are just, the very best m en in the world are either ludicrously fanatical or basely hypocritical. But I shall incur your censure again. 'I am strangely in preaching humor to-night." "You do not really think," said Egbert anxiously, ' that I meant to find fault with you, or that I do not thank you for your good advice, or that," and he low- ered his voice, "I think you are not a Christian." "No, no, dear fellow. I do not misunderstand you. Unless in the last particular; if you mean to imply that I lmay be a Christian,. I can only wonder at your perver- sion of terms. But enough of this. I have not told you where my next voyage is to carry nce." "Is it decided?" "Yes, to-day. To England." "England!" repeated Egbert in astonishment. "Yes; and by my own request." "Have you 1no fears?" "I think I shall hardly be recognized. I have met one here whom I knew at home. Conversed with him, and sat beside him, gave him every chance to recognize me; and he did not. If he did not, I think no other will, un- page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 "THE JULIA." less it be Mag, and she would not betray me. I was a boy then, and am a iman now. My thick whiskers, too, hide my face. But my best disguise, 'perhaps, is some change in my character. If still too irritable, I am not now the quarrelsome, mettlesome rascal I was. The scowl that used to be perpetual is only transitory now. So I shall venture. I pine to see my native hills, and dear old Thornbrake, and good Mag who used to spoil me. And, in truth, I long to know just what injury I did the old harness-maker. Once I hoped I had killed him. Now, I confess," and he sighed, "it would be a heavy weight removed from my conscience to be sure that his blood is not on my hands." .. . } \z XXVI. , "S TELLA," in capitals, crimson, orange, and blue, blazed no more on street corners and dead walls. The star withdrew from the great metropolis to dazzle the theatrical world in other emporiums of trade, fashion, and taste. Captain White grew moody. Sally described him by her usual elegant metaphor--" as cross as two sticks." Cle' laughed more than ever at his oddities, and he was more than ever vexed by her stupid and tiresome good humor. Suddenly he announced his determination to travel. He had seen little of America, he said; the Julia would not be ready for sea in less than three months; he would improve the time. So he went. His first letter to Egbert announced his arrival in Baltimore, and was fullt of the great- "sensation " Stella had caused in the monumental city. His next letter was from Charleston and Stella was there also. At Mobile, at New Orleans, hi visits synchronized with Stella's. Tlhen came a let- ter with the information that Stella had sailed for Cuba, and Captain White was hastening to New York. In the meanwhile Egbert Haltsum in the great city was lonely. Life seemed tame. Its flavor had evapo- rated. Business was a drudgery. Evenings at home (247) page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 "THiE JULIA." were dull and insipid. An occasional call at iMr. Foster's or Fanny Forkes' unstimulating. The music, the glitter, the excitement of the theatre, and, above all, the bril- liant society of Estelle Forrester, had left his mind dazed, unsettled,'dissatisfied. His taste for ordinary enjoyments and common pursuits had been slpoiled by the high sea- soning of intoxicating pleasures. By degrees, however, he recovered his cheerfulness and renewed his interest in neglected duties. He had time for self-inspection, and he improved it. On this ac- count it was well that Captain White's departure left him so entirely alone. He saw now how different his life for the last ten weeks was from wh'lat it had been pre- viously, and what it must be again' hereafter. He per- ceived now what transformations, inwardly in his tastes, outwardly in his habits, those ten weeks had effected. He was shocked. He resolved more faithfully to keep his heart out of which are the issues of life. He might, perhaps, never recover the simplicity of ttastes and habits he had lost; but would understand better his own weakness and the many dangers which surround the Christian. Hfenceforth, with a new and not unpainful feeling and intensity of desire, would he utter the daily prayer, "Lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil." The evening after Captain White left for his travels, Egbert oppressed with a sense of solitariness, restless at home, and craving change, sought to drive away his gloom by a walk on the Battery. The place was not well chosen for his purpose, it revived too strongly. painful recollections. He tried to shake them off. He' looked out upon the bay and sought for points of beauty. He i., A PROPOSITION.. 249 looked up to the stars and attempted to think of Him who made the worlds. But in vain, he could only think of himself, and ceased to struggle against it. He seated himself in the very seat where, on his eighteenth birth- day, Carrie Foster sat beside him. He reflected on all that passed between them that day. He blamed himself anew for words then spoken. He reproached himself that for ten long weeks he had suffered the splendor of another's beauty and talent to banish from his mind the simple child Carrie. He had told Carrie that he was a boy. He felt now that he was a man. The freshness and vivacity of his heart had passed away. He had grown old in sentiment and experience. While occupied with these reflections, another person took the seat beside him. Egbert, without looking at the intruder, moved to give him room. "In trouble, hey?" asked a familiar voice. Egbert recognized ,at once Mr. Blanche. "We'll know each other yet, I see. But,'my young' friend, you must not let the matter of a little debt lie like an incubus upon your happy heart. That is easily managed." "I am not in debt, sir," said Egbert, with a manner expressive of the offence he felt at this man's meddle- someness. "Not in debt?" asked the other, incredulously. Egbert vouchsafed no answer. "But in. trouble, nevertheless," he continued. "Sup- planted. A rival. I see. Money, young friend, money will restore favor.") Egbert pretended and tried not to listen. He would have risen, but the man's hand was on his knee, and he would not rudely shake it off. "Mr. Hartsum," said Mr. Blanche, lowering his voice "'* page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] '- II[E .) ULIA .' into a confidential tone, "You will not trust me. Yet I can trust you. Let me prove it by giving you my confl- dence. You can be of service to me. I need at this very time Munnypen & Co.'s signature to paper, good paper, sure to be met before maturity. Grant me this favol; only one dash of your pen, and I promise you at the very 'first venture five thousand dollars, and prospec- tively, a fortune!, Egbert, stunned for a second by this proposal, recovered his self-possession with a glow of indignation. The hand on his knee was shaken off as a viper might be. He sprang to his feet. He avoided the contagion of even a touch. "You take me to be what you are yourself,' he ex- claimed. "What's that?, "A knave, a swindler, a forger, a thief! ," "Tut! tut! not so fast, ypung man. Think before you speak," "You are an infamous scoundrel, as insulting as un- principled!" "Take that back, or you will repent of it at leisure." "Speak to me again, sir, on this or any similar subject, and I will expose you. Munnypen & Co. shall hear of your designs." "Be careful, young man. You are not only refusing an offer kindly intended for your benefit, but risking trouble for yourself. I give you twenty-four hours to think of my proposition. Come to me at the end of that time, or consider my offer of help and friendship withdrawn.", Mr. Blanche, while he said this, held Egbert by the coat with a tight grasp. The instant he was released, ji A PROPOSITION. 251 Egbert hurried away without answering the unruffled courtesy with which Mr. Blanche bade him farewell. That gentleman, notwithstanding the smooth exterior he maintained, sent a muttered curse after him. 'That fellow is either a greener fool, or a deeper player, than I have yet suspected," he said to himself, and went his way. Egbert was filled with a sense of shame. He had been thought capable of one of the meanest and basest actions a man could be guilty of. And though this was the vil- lainous thought of a bad man, yet he felt degraded by it. "This," he said to himself, "is the fiist-fruit of wrong- doing into which I was led so blindly and involuntarily that I can hardly yet believe myself to blame for it. This proves Sweeny's affirmation of the danger of ming- ling in that society into which I have suffered myself to be introduced. Surely there must be something inhe- rently wr6ng in the theatre, when one, so good herself, as Estelle Forrester is, cannot appear on the stage with- out: gathering such satellites around her as this Blanche, 'nor one associate with her and her friends without falling under suspicion as I have. The theatre! I begin to think it is the very heart, throbbing with depravity, of that world which lieth in wickedness." There was a question started in his mind which he found it difficult to answer. Ought he to communicate to Munnypen & Co. the nefarious- proposition which had been made to him? He could see no immediate good to be answered by doing so. He could prove nothing against Mr. Blanche. He would suffer intense mortifica- tion himself in letting it be known that surch an offer had been made to him. And would not this tend to shake the confidence of his employers in his integrity? And page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 "TrI E JULIA." could he explain to their satisfaction how his acquaintance with Mr. Blanche was brought about, and what induced that gentleman to propose his committing an act so criminal? lie buried the base secret in his own bosom. It was of some service to him. It alarmed and terrified him. It cured him of all lingering desires to revisit the theatre., It made him more strenuous in his efforts to return to his old way of life and find his happiness in being good and doing good. And it prompted him to more zeal, and fidelity in the service of his employers; he felt as if he owed some atonement to them for the mere fact of allow- ing himself to be tempted to do them an injury. Thus the three month's of Captain White's absence passed away. XXVII. n ' EGBERT daily and laboriously discharged his duties at Munnypen & Co.'s, but he could not resist the conviction that the firm did not repose that entire confi- dence in him with which they had once honored him. There was on their part a caution, an oversight, a disposi- tion to question, which had not been. His entries, and especially his bank books, were daily subjected to a rigid examination, and many little matters, formerly in- trusted to him, were wholly withdrawn from his control. He thought it strange, but usually found some way to account for each particular incident of the kind, He was too honest himself to indulge suspicion of the. motives of others. One bright morning Egbert hastened to the counting- house. He was more than usually cheerful. The clouds which had obscured his faith and chilled his heart'were vanishing; old feelings of peace and happiness were coming back; he was beginning again to enjoy the quiet and methodical habits of his old way of life. He met Mr. Foster in the street this morning and stopped to ask afteriCarrie: she was well, a letter from her had been received the night before. She inquired particularly after Egbert, always did.'. Sweet little Carrie! The (253) page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 "THE JULIA." I pleasant thought 'ofher added another sense of gladness to his heart. With more than ordinary alacrity he put on his office- coat ard took his place at the office-desk. He was early, but he had much to do. From eight o'clock to nine o'clock, from nine o'clock to ten o'clock, he wrote, wrote, wrote; letters, copies, accounts. One after another the other clerks made their appearance, each with some pleasant word of greeting. Then Mr. Munnypen Sr. entered, and returned Egbert's salutation with great gravity. Mr. Munnypen Jr. entered, and scarcely seemed to notice Egbert. Mr. Juvenal, the youngest member of the firm, entered, and did not so much as look at Egbert. Still Egbert wrote on, with a happy heart, thoughtless of evil. "Mr. Hartsum,"-it was the youngest clerk spoke- ' they're calling you." He pointed to the inner office. Promptly Egbert obeyed the summons. Mr. Juvenal held the door open till he entered, closed it after him, and took his seat on a high stool, and began 'the inter- minable process of twisting the key of the safe around his finger. Mr. Munnypen Jr. sat on a chair tilted up, like a frisky horse on his hind legs, against the wall, and played with his penknife. Mr. Munnypen Sr. sat bolt upright in his chair., looking serious and earnest, and with his hands unoccupied (unless in a figurative sense). Egbert saw nothing unusual in the appearance of Munnypen & Co., till, instead ;of hearing some ordinary inquiry, or receiving some ordinary direction, he was invited by Munnypen Jr. to be seated. He took a chair. Silence ensued, with its usual concomitant, a touch of awkward embarrassment promiscuously distributed. Juvenal twirled his key, Minnypen Jr. played with his Is "AN AccUSATION. 255 penknife, Munnypen Sr. inserted his right hand in his vest and looked seriously at Egbert; Egbert looked inquiringly at him. At length XMunnypenl Sr. spoke. All that he said had evidently been well conned over beforehand, for Mr. Munnypen Sr. was not used to much talking. It was a solemn thing to see Mr. Munnypen Sr. setting about a regular speech. Egbert was duly impressed by it; he knew that the subject could be of no little importance. "Mr. Hartsum," the senior partner began, ' we have reposed in you an unusual degree of confidence. Our regard for your father, our high opinion of your own business capacity and hitherto excellent character, and the expectation of receiving you into the firm when of age, has induced us, I say, to repose in you an unusual degree of confidence, of confidence, I say, For some :? months you have been in effect, not in natne, in effect, I say, the cashier of our firm. All transactions at bank have been carried on through you. Indeed, you have our power of attorney to act for us. No drafts have been signed, no notes drawn, but by yourself, ][ believe -by yourself, I say." "None that I know of," said Egbert, glad of a chance to speak, and hoping to hasten this mysterious interview to a conclusion. "None that you know of, eh? Yes. Then, perhaps, you know this note." He turned to the'table, and lifted a marble weight from the mischievous slip of paper re:ferred to. "This is your writing, I think, and that is ,i the way in which you generally sign the name of the firm?"He extended the note to Egbert as he spoke, who took and examined it. "That is my writing; this is my signature," answered page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 256 "'TIE JULIA.." Egbert, promptly; "but," he added more slowly, "I have no recollection of the note itself. If I drew it the books will show. I do not now recollect it." "'Do not recollect it.' 'If you did the books will show, '" repeated Mr. AMunnypen Sr. "But the books do not, sir. I say, the books do not, we have examined them." Egbert looked, as well he might, surprised and dis- tressed. "Mr. Hartsum," continued Munnypen Sr., and he spoke sadly and eve:n tenderly, "there is no use of your denying it; we know all-your fiequenting the theatres and the company of play-actors, (Egbert crimsoned,) your intimnacy with Mr. Blanche, and now the result of all this is the crime of-of"--he lowered his voice, reluctant to say it-" of--forgery!" At this first direct charge, Egbert, bluslhing before, turned pale, and could not speak. "Perhaps, now, you will acknowledge that you 'recol- lect.' We have," and Munnypen Sr. looked towards and bowed at his partners, "the most friendly feelings. We are dispcsed to take the most charitable view of this unfortunate affair. We do not dream of exposure. Ve only wish to see you truly penitent, and to be assured that this your first transgression shall be your last, your last, I say." He spoke kindly, persuasively. Egbert recovered himself enough to exclaim, "Mr. Munnypen! Can you really believe me guilty! Oh! how can you even suspect me of such a thing!'1 "Young man!" he answered, assuming a severer tone, "next to your committing this deed, it pains me most that yon manifest a disposition to deny it-to deny it, I say. Perhaps, when I tell you a little more of mat- F AN ACCUSATION. 257 ters, you will see that any attempt at concealment, from us at least, is vain-vain. Some years ago this Mr. Blanche-you know himl?" -(Egbert nodded) " used the name of our firm on paper whichl he was accustomed to meet, or exchange, before maturity. tIe was deteted; but not punished, as he ought to have been. Indeed, the paper on whicl our name. was indorsed-it was a note drawn at three months for $2,000, signed by himself, in- dorsed by us; was it not, Juvenal?" "Yes, sir." "Yes. Well, that note mysteriously disappeared, was paid and disappeared, I say. We never could get hold of it. Hence could not arraign him for forgery. A. pity-pity, I say; it might have saved you from this deplorable iniquity. This Mr. Blanche, your friend-" "No friend of mine, sir!" interrupted Egbert. Mr. Munnypce Sr. answered only withl a look of rebuke, and resumed with dignity. "This Mr. Blanche, within the last few months, has renewed his old prac- tices. We had reason to think that our naime was used on paper we never saw, or knew of. He wais watched. To our great regret, out' astonist- st astonish- ment, I say-iilformation came to us that you were one of his visitors; and not only in his coripany were you seen, but in the company of play-actors and such sort; that you, professing what you do, were yet a regular at- tendant at the theatres, and in the worst way too-be- hind the scenes. I tried to speak to you on this sub- ject once. ,You repulsed me. You--" Egbert interrupted again. "I had no idea your re- marks were intended for me, sir. I thought they were mere general observations; and, feeling sensitive on that subject, I turned away. Had you spoken directly, plainly -", . . '?' ' ' page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 " THE J ULIA ." "You felt 'senMitive'," broke in Mr. Munnypen Sr., "'sensitive on that particular subject!' You well I might-well might, I say." 'Egbert bit his lip, Mr. Munnypen, Sr. sighed, a sigh of real, sincere concern. Egbert sighed too. "In fine," said Mr. Munnypen Sr. hurrying to a conclusion as one does over a disagreeable subject, "Mr. Blanche was overheard making a proposition to you, a proposition of which this is the result--this note, I say, is the result. About the same time, letters, anonymous letters, not to be regarded but for other corroborating circumstances, put us more and more on our guard. against you, admonished us that fraudulent notes were issued, that you were in debt, that you-a member of the church--are addicted to bad company, to bad habits; all of which we knew--I say, we knew. Then yester- day-Mr. Blanche being out of the country, having some two months since left for parts unknown, which may ac- count for the accident, he not being on the spot to give his personal attention to the matter-yesterday, I say, this note, not merely endorsed by us, as others had been, but drawn by us-falls into our hands. Now, sir, you must see that the evidence is complete-complete, I say." Egbert would have spoken: Mr. Munnypen Sr. pre- vented him. "Wait," he said, peremptorily. "Before you commit yourself to a denial of this-this-transaction, I'll say, let me advise you of-our intentions. We," Mr. Munny- pen Sr. bowed to his partners, who bowed to him in return, "feel that we have been culpable in confiding so much to one so young and inexperienced, putting, as it were, temptation in your way. We think, I say, that we F AN AccUSATIONO 259 ourselves ought to bear a share of your guilt. Consider- ing our own incaution, your youth, and the fact that you were in debt, and therefore strongly tempted, remember- ing too your father, and unwilling that Captain John Hartsum should be disgraced in his son, we have resolved to suppress this note. I say to suppress it-it is but a small su :you perceive, such an amount as a young be- ginner might venture; an older hand would have risked a larger amount, or none, probably; I say, we have de- termined to say nothing more about this note. We shall be obliged to remove you from your present position, and put our banking business in the hands of Mr. Ju- venal-where it ought ever to have been," he added with emphasis. Mr. Juvenal 'twirled his key more vio- lently than ever, conscious of some personal delinquency in this matter. "But we shall continue you as clerk and afford you every opportunity to retrieve. your character. One word more, and this for myself, not the firm, I say. Be frank, tell what you owe-the amount of your debt, I say, and I myself will pay it, hoping that this seve:re les- son will prevent your ever getting into such a situation again. But all that I have said, both for the firm and for myself, depends on one condition--I say, one condi- tion; your free, full, and unequivocal confession of guilt, and avowal of penitence." Egbert, equally overcome by perceiving how strong was the conviction of his guilt in the minds of his employ- ers, and how generous and magnanimous was their con- duct in these circumstances-yet chiefly alive to the first consideration, could not at once command himself to an, swer. Munnypen & Co. shared his feelings. Juvenal ceased twirling his key and laid his head on his arms on the high desk before which he sat. MuBIiylpen Jr. pock- page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 "THE JULIA. ) eted his knife and walked himself to the window, out of which there was nothing to be seen,--nothing but a blank brick wall within six feet of his nose. Munnypen S'. took off his spectacles to wipe the moisture from thenm. "Mr. Munnypen," began Egbert, at length, "I know nothing of that note. Mr. Blanche is no friend of mine. My acquaintance with him is merely accidental. The proposition he made me I repelled with so much anger as to offend him; and he, I strongly suspect, is the au- thor of the letters you have received. I am not now in debt: never was but to a trifling amount, which a little economy enabled me to cancel. Your kindness, your generous, Christian offer to one whom you suppose to have fallen, affects me as it ought.' But as I am innocent, I could not accept it and remain here to be looked upoli with suspicion." "You deny everything?" asked Mr. Munnypen Sr.. with concern, not untouched withl anger. "No, sir; not everything. I do not deny going to thle theatre. I do not deny intimacy with one, only one, cel- ebrated player, and by means of that intimacy being brought to the casual acquaintance of some doubtful characters. How thiss hs happened, I am not now at liberty to explain: but not one of you, I am sure, would condemn me if yot knew the facts." "For one professing the principles 'you do, Egbert," Mr. Munnypen Sr. rejoined, "'the principles you do, I say, going to the theatre and intimacy with players, is not merely inconsistent, but worse yet, it savors of-of- I an sorry to say it--of hypocrisy; and coupled withl the reasons we have for suspecting you of issuing this note, renders it imlpossible for us to receive your mere word of denial. Our confidence is shaken." \ , . AN ACCUSATION. 261l "Then, sir, we must part," and Egbert slowly rising turned to the door. "One moment," said Mr. Munnypen Sr. looking steadfastly in Egbert's fiace, and seeing there only grief and injured innocence. "Take twenty-four hours to think of this. Regard your place as still yours and our hearts as yours for that time. If within that time you candidly acknowledge this to have 'been your act-; well and good. If not, ', for one, will always try to. think you guiltless, till we have positive and undeniable proof to the contrary." "And I," repeated Munnypen Jr. coming forward eagerly, and giving Egbert his hand. "And I," added Juvenal, extending his hand. "Thank you." "Thank you." "Thank you," was all that Egbert could say, as h. shook the hand of each. Without another word, he left the inner office ; he took his hat, and without exchanging a look with any of the other clerks, without even so much as glancing at his own' desk, where he had worked so heartily and cheerfully that morhing, he left Munnypen & Co.'s counting house forever. Egbert passed out of Munnypen & Co.'s, but took a heavy burden with 'him, that could not be left blehind. A cloud was over him. Would he ever pass from under it? Would he ever be free from suspicion again? He shuddered. The very weather had changed. The sky was dark; the air damp and chilly. He doubted if it would ever seem bright to him again. II page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] XXVIII. TOT home, not anywhere purposely, save to avoid a crowd or a recognition, did Egbert go, but just where the streets he happened to turn into took him. At last he found himself approaching the Battery. A crowd of passengers from a boat, just arrived, was passing up Battery Place. lHe turned to avoid them. A voice, the voice of all others he would have chosen then to hear, hailed him-Captain' White's. " h, Sweeny! Where are you from? How did you happen to come just when I wanted you!" "Because the cars and boat just happened to bring me, I suppose But what is your especial need of me?"- "Come, and I'll tell you," said Egbert, indicating his wish to cross to the Battery. "Not in that direction, please," answered the captain, refusing to stir. "Hungry, cold, tired, and at dinner time too! "Yes, yes; come along," urged Egbert, impatiently. A tone of distress in the voice arrested the captains attention. He scrutinized the pale, anxious fhce of his young friend, and without another word suffered himself to be led to the quietest walk the Battery afforded. I There, as the two walked slowly to and fro to keep their blood in circulation, Egbert's story was told. The cap- (262) I A NEW MATE. 263 tain heard it without comment, till the name of Blanche was mentioned. Then he groaned. "You know this man?" asked Egbert. "Yes. But knew him not to be so lost, so degraded." He seemed sick and faint. The perspiration, cold as the day was, stood in beads upon his forehead. ]Egbert was deeply affected by such evidences of his friend's sym- pathy and hastened to finish his story. "It is bad business, Bertie,"..said the captain. "No worse, perhaps, than you deserve. It shows you what might have happened had you been a voluntary frequenter of theatres and theatrical society. It comes as a warning. And, oh! how glad I am that Iknow all and am not left to doubt your honesty and sincerity. And now for din- ner," he added, trying to speak cheerfully; " and then for thinking what is to be done." "No dinner for me, Swecny," was the dejected re- sponse ; "no home for me, till mother knows this. ,I can- not tell her; and the worst is, cannot explain it to her." "True. My wits are lost- between traveling and trou- ble. Let's see. Munnypen & Co., perhaps, will be satisfied with my declaration of your innocence of all fault as to your theatre going. But your mother, Bertie? she will demand a fuller explanation; she must have it. I shall tell her Stella's history." "Never!" exclaimed Egbert. "Why not? I know Estelle's magnanimity. She would insist upon its being told were she here. She would her- self hasten and tell it, if needful. It is but a matter of pride, a dread of gossiping tongues, that induced her to bind you to secrecy.1" "I have promised to keep her secret. I cannot, will not break faith. Without her consent, I must not. And page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 T- IE JU LIA." remembering her anxiety I could not ask that consent, even were she here':' ' I'll do the best I can, then,"' said the captain, reluc- tantly yielding this- point. "Where shall I find you again?" "Here." "But it is' cold and damp, and it may be some hours before I return." "You will find me here; the place suits me, and the weather too."' The words and the manner in which they were spoken betrayed the deep distress into which he had been so suddenly precipitated. r His interview with Captain White had been some relief. He could now collect his thoughts and reflect to advantage on what had happened, and the result was-penitence. Penitence for what? Had he been guilty ol' any crime? No, and. scarcely of a misde- meanor, for lhe could not blame himself for attendance at the theatre, involuntary as it was at first, and justifiable as he believed it to be; yet he was in fault, and was peni- tent for it. That fault, (some will fail to appreciate it,) was neglect of prayer. .Sorrowfully did he remember now that night, when returning home excited and dis- quieted, he failed to ask counsel of God, as thechild, (in covenant,) of the Heavenly Father ever should ask. Sadly did he :recollect now, that for days and weeks he could hardly be said to have prayed. He had not ne- glected the form, but the simplicity, directness, actual- ness of real prayer he had. come short of. Had jie prayed thus, he would at least have been kept from that worldliness of mind of which his present trouble was a painful but needful chastisement. And he could not but think, too, that h1e would not have consented to have A NEW MATE. 265 kept his mother, always before his confidant, in ignorance of his intimacy with Estclle Forrester. And he suspected too, that he would not have been deceived into the belief tlat it was his duty to invest himself with the character of Estelle's guardian. But whatever difference in his conduct prayerfulness might have effected, he had been prayerless, he had wandered from God, he had failed to keep his heart, he had suffered the fervor of his early love to Jesus to grow cool, and he had been faithless to sonme at least of his duties as a Christian. These thoughts humbled him; and they soolthed him too, for they made him view his present difficulties as designed to teach him the danger of neglecting daily and constant communion with God, the importance of irgingi with importunity the petition, "Lead us not into temptation, But deliver us from evil." At the end of two hours thus profitably spent by Egbert, his friend, the captain returned. He came with a smiling countenance. Soim-ething had happened to 1please him. To-day of all days, Egbert would. have ex- pected to sec the fiownl on his friend's brow, and was a little displeased that Sweeny White should be in good- ]umlor with the world, when he was in undeserved dis- grace . But the captain waited for no questions, and the cau(se of the sudden exhilaration of his spirits was soon d-isclosed. "All's right! hle said. Your mother longs to em- Brace you and assure you that she spurns the insult of suspecting you, that not even a mother's anxiety can conljulre up a speck of doubt to clond her perfect confi- decee in your integrity. Munnypen & Co. receive my tassurances, as far as they go, with the hope that time may prove them correct. Arid as for yourself, you are I 12 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] ULIA.": A NEW1nr M o be my shipmate. You are to sail in the on her next voyage as third mate! " in needed only to have been on the Julia at iave led off in a three-times-three. It was evi- lost sight of the unpleasantness of the morn- 1I in the delight Which the arrangement it had afforded him. I-e was almost glad at heart Ilad been accused of so great an offence, :aself was more slow in discovering the pro- ; hasty arran-genient. I a malte, who never was a seamnan!" lle emurringly. .e born a seaman! " asserted the captain. error ever to try to mIake you anything else. ieen familiar with nautical terms and waJys tfancy. You have some theoretical knowl- :gation; we studied it together on that India you were as ready a scholar as I. You only to make you perfect." father's wish, Sweeny, and poor Granny's l shlaking his head. "You would have me-- ,aside by the necessity- of the case," inter- ,ptain, anxious to anticipate every objection ild be considered long enough to seem in- 'Your father would wish it, would comln.n(d lere nzo. Even your grandmother would ,nsider, dear fellow, the unhappy position Munnypen &Co. are willing to keep you, ot agree to remain with them while under Lr can they give you clean papers of recon-- : any other house. But if you sail with me in Munnypen &Co.'s employ; you have ,ed your position fiom ;a clerkship to a mate- I A NEr MATE. 261 ship, by your own choice. The world is to know no more. Such is the bargain. And should anything leak out, you are away and will not be distressed and over- whelmed by it. Do you see ?" " Yes," answered Egbert, sadly. "But then there is mother. How.can she spare e ? " "She says 'go.' It is her wish." Egbert was silent. Every objection that occurred to him had been removed. The captain left him to revolve the imatter in his own mind-while taking his arm, he directed his steps homeward. "So then I .am to go with you to England ?" said Egert, at length, as if waking up fiom a dreanm. The captain's first expression of delioght occasioned by this token of assent to his plans, was immediattely suc- ceeded by an air of' embarrassment. "No," he said,, hesitatingly. . Not to England; tlat is, not directly. The Julia's next voyage is to the West Indies, and then for dear England." "How so ? " asked Egbert.. "You have not heard, then. A good venture sug- gested itself to me while I was in the Soutll. I W\rote and proposed it to Munnypen &Co., and they agreed."" The captain, without dwelling firther on this change of destination, went on rapidly to paint in glowing colors the pleasure they would enjoy lereleifter it the intilnate associations of shipblard. His enthusiasm communicated itself to Egbert, who always liad a predilection tob a life at sea, though he had scrupullously repressed it; and he went homie that afternoon happier than in the morningl he thought he ever couldl 1)e again. " Mother, how can you spare lme?" Egblert asked that evening, as they all sat around the basement-room fire. page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 268 "THNE JULIA." Mrs. Hartsuam was silent. Cle' came to her temporary 'relief. "We will do well enough. Sally s as good as a man in the house. I can go to market and all that. I'll like thlat part of it--wont it be fun to scamper off early these cold, mornings and chaffer with the rosy-faced market- women? Their apples never look half so red after you get them home as they do in the reflection of their own red cheeks.'" Cle' laughed. Capltain, White looked at her compas- sionately, as he always did. Mrs. Hartsnium and Egbert, more appreciative of her real goodness, rewarded it with a smile. "I have been thinking," said Mrs. Hartsu, " that per- haps Fanny and her family would come and live witlh us." "Just the thing!" cried the captain. "For then you can spare Cle' here." "Spare Cle'?" askedt Egbert. "You have no inten- tion of taking her, too, in the Julia?" "'Not the least. But I have the intention of sending Cle' to school. Since you and I, BertIie, are to make our fortunes at sea, we ought to give Cle' a first rate educa- tion." Egbert observed the delicacy which interpolated the "we," and resolved that "we" it should be. in fact, whatever the captain might design. "I-ow would you like, Cle'," continued the captain, "to be a schoolmate of Carrie'Foster?" Cle' thought a little over the subject and hesitated, and at last concluded that she would like it very much. "There's leaving mother," she said, "and not seeing you when you come home. But then mother 'l hardly miss me if Fanny is here, and you will be so seldom at home." A NEw MATE. 269 So tne matter was settled, Cle' looking a little grave about it for all her bright coloring. Erbert did not wholly escape the public scandal of the errors he was charged with. Some enemy was busy cir- culatilng evil reports of him. Mr. Blanche, doubtless, had taken measures to verify his threats. Among the church people, and the Sunday school teachers, and the very children, .there were whisperings and extravagant stories. Good people sorrowfiul, and bad boys and youths exulting, that Egbert Hartslum, the paragon, was no better than need be. These were bitter trials to Egbert, but the severest was to fall in the estimation of his excellent pastor. Mr. Foster sent to him desirin an interview, 'Egbert found him in great grief and consternation. He was most unwilling to believe that his favorite among all the youth of his charge, was leadlng, in secret, a dissi- pated life. "Is it true, Egbert," lie asked with anxiety, little short of anguish, "thlat you are in the habit of going to the theatre, and are intimate with actors and actresses?" Egbert could only 'deny the charge of immorality, while ,he confessed tlat he had been many times at the theatre, and was intimate with one actress; but, were he at liberty to communicate certain facts, he Was surel e'ven his pastor would absolve him from fault. Such a confession, how- ever, with its mysterious reserve, was not calculated to allay Mr P Foster's apprehensions. - "I stand in doubt of' you, my young friend, "were his pastor's last words. And Egbert left him with a sorrowful heart. The effect of these rumors on Captain White was to keep hini in a state of constant irritability. Ite did nothing but rail at the world and slander it in turn for its slander. And between the difficulty of regulating the. page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 "THE JULIA."' captain's ungovernable temper, and keeping up his own burdened spirits, Egobert was so worn out that he rejoiced when the time came to leave the scene of his troubles and the endearlmeilts of his once happy home. On the Julia he was fiee. No breath of defamation could reach him there. The further she bounded into the ocean, the further from the tainted atmosphere of a world of wickedlness, the lighter grew his heart. The beautiful brig seemed conscious of carrying one whose love and pride she was. True to her helm, firm under the press of her canvas, and graceful in every motion, she sped onward, and in the captain's judgment, whose heart seemed never so merry as now, she out-did herself. XXIX. fND the islacnd of Cuba, wrhere the Canemia ilows throughy sheer, precipitous banks, and the plain stretches away on either side till lost in the shadows of distant moun- tails, one sheet of tropical luxuriance, a, landscape se- renely beautiful, andlan atmosphere deliciously soft and bamy--there, far from th e clamorous world, had Estelle Forrester chosen her temporarY residence. She had foind a retreat under the roof of the widow of a planter. loof, literally; for tlec house, with its high ceilings, bare beams, stone floors, unfurnished roonms, immense win- dows and, prodigious doors, was little more than '" roof." In a hot climate the desirableness of a house depends less on the style and furniture of the inside thanl on the quan- tity of out-doors it contains; and the first consideration in point of einjoyment is, not what is within the house (except space), but what is without. In this particular the idows homestead was most delectthle. The grounds around the house were carefully cultivated. Gravel walks separated flower beds, profusely planted and rather too artificially planned, but relieved by groves of olean- ders atd an occasiona1l orange or small fruit or flowering tree. Bcyond were fields of bananas, pine-applesi yams, and the coffee plant. Trees, chiefly palms and cocoa- 7p page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 . "THE JULIA. '. nuts were grouped on every side, and with this advantace, that their unbranched trunks did not hide at any point the exquisite landscape in the distance. Estelle's visit to Cuba was not professional. She had come for the sake of seclusion, and had found it. At first she enjoyed it as one :might who had seldom stepped be- yond the throng of great cities. But she was already becoming wearied. She lad scoured the country on horseback in every direction; had sketched or painted whatever struck. her :fancy as an artist; had eaten the luscious fiuit of the ishnd till it palled on her taste; and now she began to long for some other society than that of her 'own chattering maid, Lizette, or of the pretty, in- dolent, and ill-educated widow who owned the estate. "Put that picture on the easel, Lizette," she said one day. "There-so." "Mad'moiselle wastes her time," 'said Lizette, pet- tishly. "Why not this, as well as anything?" asked the mis- tress. "There are very pretty views here, that mad'moiselle might carry away With her, if she would," suggested Lizette. "I am weary of them," was the reply. "They waste umber; all so brown, so still, so hot! I would 'rather paint stage scenery, or the front of a Broadway store, with its signs, by way of advertisement; .anyt hing sug- gestive of living, enterprising, thinking, working men and women!" She began to paint. The picture was a portrait of Eg- bert Hartsum. The face was finished, the dress incom- plete. But she soon dropped her brush and sat listlessly idle. \ 213 R T rr o r T C A L P%, E'T p, T A TnoPICAT RETREAT. ' Lizette," she said at last, tired even of thinkinl alone. "I aml sick of this stupid experiment. I was mlade- for life, actiohl. The stage is my world. I should pine of ennui off it. 'Iow do people live with nothing to do?" "There are 'very few of that sort, m admoiselle2' "' What sort?" ". Of people with nothing to do.' "True. And I need not be idle because ff the stage. It was a mistake to come to t(his solitude. I should have sought some place that would have affordedwork, occn- pan tion. . to sebori Agat shan besae the mansilent, highbut ot listy culti- as thinking, plan n ing foher on mnteument lie stock, horsemed s, catisfied wigsth pln to ogs nd ebirdfis;ed Lizet a 'description, of tiem. She di ilol m sion fl yof ervants and of guest , an oan sylum fore 'and givrls, vant ing encitdless es, tertand moets rm for their improved besices, a n oanm forltir brotlers, negleted boys, and a whole village of poor folk in the neighhorhood of her mansion, and all under her own' patronage. ,l4ad'mfljs5elle has left nothing for her heusband to d6'" remarked Lizette, with affected naivetc. "Husband? There is no husband in the ase," re 'torted the mistress, sharply. ",Lizette, your thoughts always run on marriage." o mir * v"Eh bien d tt ad without further attention to her migstr es', diselailer,. volunteered her 1 of h M page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 "TI E JULIA..' advice. "Madl'oiselle should marry some one whlo would not take her out of the world: some one worthy of her."oe r "' Worthy? , repeated Estelle, mechanically, with her eyes fixed on the portrait. "The question may be if am worthy? b , "Mad'moiselle,o " exclaimed Lizette, vehemently, c is wolrthy of a lord, a prince! If she shall throw herself away on a no-body, I sliall die. Oh! I ust nver survive!" ! I must ver At this moment the clattering of a horse's hoofs, that had been for some minutes audible, saddenly ceaser , and the next instant a lllns footsteps were heard on the marble pavemnent of, the hall. Estelle, expecting thle arrival of a servant with letters, turned to see-Captain White. "This is delightful.' I thouht you woul never come, she exclaimed. "How are you?" he asked. "Tired to death. Glad to see any new face." "Even mine2? "Even yours. Here, sit down. 'Make yourself com- ftable. So. Ice-water here Lizette. And no for th "p tain ex a aminliarg t ce, I perceive," remarked tlhe captaint eamining the portrait. You have taken somi, pains to keep that withi , n sight." , Yes," she replied. "It is a fce worth painting-one fthe few, even your cynical judgment must admit. [low have I succeeded? He only gave me three or four ;ittings' Absurd fellow; I could not prevail on him to vailudyb u te tmsh a t on byin t ome Sundays, and otherties he w ighe as too busy in day- A TROPICAL RETREAT. 2]5 "Would you have had him give you his Sundays?" asked the captain seriously. "No, and yes. I would have him be true to his prin- ciples, but improve his principles. But the portrait--is it good? The mouth gave me most trouble!" "A peculiar mouth, indeed," answered the captain. "And you have caught its pleasantest expression wonder- fully. All the sweetness of his father's, and too little of his father's firmness in it. Always changing too. Hard to paint, I should think. You must be fond of painting portraits," he remIarked, turning from the picture as if satisfied with looking at that, "to work on this, in the midst of so much else to paint. Do you take likenesses of all your friends?" "I will take yours," said Estelle, catching at the thought. He looked pleased. "I will make a beginning at once,' she continued, "for I never saw you looking better. You seem almost happy, and hardly any cross. Bringo me that ivory, Li- zette; quick, before I lose that expression. Painting need not prevent talking; you know." But painting and talking both were interrupted by the arrival of letters from the post. Estelle excused herself while she glanced at their contents. She did onlyglance at them, and, throwing them in a heap on the floor, left Lizette to gather them up and put them in a more appro- priate place. "All clamorous for my return to the stage," she re- marked, as she resumed her pencils; all full of stale com- pliments, and all, according to their own ideas, magnifi- cently liberal in their offers. The New York manager outbids them all, for he magnaninmously entreats me to sm page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 27(6;" "TH I JULIA." name my own sum. I shall have some trouble to find out what that is--perhaps, nothing!, "Stella play for 'nothing?" aslked the captain. "You, too, suspect me of avariciousness?, she re. larked, half inquiringly and half reproachfully "pNot a at all!, he exclaimed, with a vehemence tlat proved his innocence. "You mistake me!, "Please resume your posture. You will spoil the pic- ture and have the scowl in it, spite of my claritable efforts to paint it out. Whllen I said 'my sun might be 'nothing '-I was thinking tlat, perhaps, I would not ap- i pear again in public at any price." "Do you then' rcllly think of leavinlg the stage?", "Yes, I think of it,' she said dreamily. "Egbert (she was very buisy w'ith her picture, and was hardly con'- scions of what she said) wishes me to." "Does his wish govern your actions?" the captain asked, with evident pique. Estelle seemed not to hear the question and without a change of voice or manner continued, You, too, advise it; do you not?" "Undoubtedly!, "Where friends agree, advice should be considered at least; and that is what I am doing. In fact, my visit to this island is a proof of my regard to the opinions of my friends in this matter. I have exiled myself to deliber- ate on the opropiety of immolating myself on the altar of friendship. But what of your voyage? . Have you o hair-breadth escapes from the perils of the ocean to re- late?". "None. Not a single adventure. Our voyage was remarkable only for benignant influences-winds breath- ed propitiously--waves smoothed themselves under the * ' . ' * A TROrICuL RETREAT. 27' Julia's prow. Neveir was a voyage against the gulf- stream so favorable. I attribute it all to a certain Fortu- natus -who sailed with us." "Who was that?"t " One of the officers; a new, third mate. You will see him before we leave. lie is young, handsome, intelli- gent and good." "You excite extravagant expectations." ' They will not be disappointed." "Indeed. If your mate is such a paragon, I am afraid you are ill-mated." "Unequally yoked, I confess," answered the captain. "Whither do you go next?" asked Estelle. "Back again to New York." "Accommodations for passengers on board the Julia?" "Ample."5 "Will you take me and Lizette?" "Only too'happy, if you can consent to leave this charming island so soon.") "I am tired to death of it, I tell you. I hate still life, and long for the world agailn." "You will hardly be happy off the stage, then, I fear?" "I fear not," she answered and sighed. Egbert HaRtsum was left for two weeks in sole charge of the Julia. At theend' of that time he was surprised by the return of Captain White, accompanied by what seemed to be a small army of painters and gildors, who were immediately set to work re-furbishing the stained and worn panelling and mouldings of the cabin. "What does this mean?"Egbert asked. "It means that we are to have passengers--ladies; and must freshen up." page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 "THnrE JULIA." "Young, or old? Plain, or handso:me?' "Both young, and one handsome." "Two, are there?" "Not exactly. But one lady, and one lady's maid." "Not Estelle?" "Estelle herself and Lizette. And now, Bertie, you have been doing duty for me, it is your turn to take a holiday. You must surprise Estelle with a visit. I pro- mised to send niy third mate to see her. She has not the least idea that you are he." "How long can I stay?" "Till I come and bring you all here. A week, per- haps." *, XXX. IAPTAIN WHTE'S third-mate found his way with ' all speed to the banks of the Canema. Lizette caught sight of him from the verandah as he approached the house, and gave expression to her feelings in a very sig- nificant French phrase, not complimentary. ]Estelle was attracted to the .verandah, wondering what in that dull place could rouse so much energy even in Lizette. She saw for herself the eulogized third-mate, and gave vent to her surprise and pleasure in a joyous burst of laugh- ter-a loud, hearty laugh, and yet a laugh so rich and musical that it did not seem boisterous, or unladylike. I Egbert heard it. In an instant he had leaped from his horse, thrown the reins to an attendant, and entering the garden by a side gate, and taking the shortest cut to the verandah, stood beside and laughed with Estelle. 'Th' week which followed was one of unalloyed pleas. urc. 'Time flew on golden wings. Egbert was to see everything. All was new to him. Rides in the early morning, and rides' in the cool evening--to catch the prettiest points of view, to explore caves and grottoes in the rocks on the hill sides, to visit neighboring planta- tions, to find the choicest fruits,-with reading and talk- in1g and sauntering about the large halls a:id rooms o the house during the heat of the day-filled up the time (279) }} , louse, alld gave explessioll to hel feelins in a sery .7 } iiat lnhplslo cnpinnt vGsel 6T page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] and left few waste millutes. Estelle forgot tlat the place was dull and dropped a hint privately to Lizette that it, was possible for her to live anid be hlppy even out of f the world.'. And Egbert rejoiced in the pleasure of lha- ing Estelle's society disencumbered of the distasteful adjuncts of theatrical society. But the week came to an end, and Captain White ar- rived to escort them to Iavana. The last ride wastaken, the last oranges plucked from the loaded branches, the last ices eaten in the moon-liglhted verandah, the last pines, meltingly ripe, broken for breakfast, and the Ca- nema and the widow's tasteful plantation receivecd thei reluctant farewells. It was already evening when they arrived in Havana. They drove directly to the wharf, where the lon o at waited for their embarkation. The Julie, legady for anl early start in the morning, lay in the middle of the har- bor, bathed in moonlight, and noticeable for her singular grace of form even there, where everything was beauti- ful! It was not till our party had rowed some distance from the shore, that they were fully impressed with the exceeding loveliness, the exquisite beauty of that scene. Above, in the clear heavens resplendent with stars, shone the moon with unusual lustre. Stars and moon were repeated again in the reflecting water that gleamed be- sides with its own phosphoresceni t light. The curved shores dotted with cottages and palm trees 011 one side, on the other parapetted and lined witlh shipping, the em- battlements of the fort close at hand, and of the Moro castle in the distance, the -white crests of the waves breaking at the mouth of the harbor,. the lights, the broken roofs, ad the towerineig steeples of the city, entered severally into a picture-the like of which could be seen nowhere else than in the harbor of Havana. While all were entranced with the scene, there came floating from the Plaza the notes of martial music. At a signal from Captain White, the oarsmen rested their dripping oars. The delicious sounds swelled louder and louder, and then grew softer and softer; now every note distinctly heard, and aga n indistinct and undertoned, as if it might be a gentle :ho of the music of the spheres that sparkled in the sky above them. Hardly a word was spoken. Lis- tening, thinking, feeling together, they sat for a whole hour, drifting on the tide till the palace clock struck: nine, and the music abruptly ceased. Estelle sighed as one always sighs wThen an excess of pleasure fills the heart. Captain White imperatively gave the order to proceed. Egbert found voice to point out one and an- other -feature of the panorama. And the good Julia alt last received her living treasure to bear it safely over the ocean to the distant and very differently beautiful harbor of the northern metropolis. Once, when a child, Estelle Saltore lad witnessed fam- ily worship; never since. Often she recurred mentally to that Well-remem bered scene in Mr. Foster's house; that devout hour when with pious simplicity the head of the house commended the household to God's blessing and offered thanks for mercies received. It seemed to her the purest type of Christianity and the most practical illustration of its nature, her means of observation had afforded. She had been present in great cathedrals at pompous ceremonials, and a few times in churches where the spirit of true worship was not encumbered with mere rites and forms. But never had her mind been so deeply awed as by that spectacle of household piety. z . X page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 282 'THE JULIA." It was certainly singular that the next time she should be present on a similar occasion was in the midst of' the ocean, and the family she should behold gAthered aroulnd the domestic altar was the officers and crew of a merchant vessel. Yet so it was. The second morning' out, at two bells, the sailors hurried aft, each with a Bible and a hymn-book. They gathered around the captain and his three mates. All stood with uncovered heads. Egbert llartsum led the service. First a hymnn was sung with heartiness; then a portion of Scripture was read and exlpounded by'Egbert; then a prayer wras offered. Estelle was singularly affected. Whether it was the recollection of Mr. Foster's fireside, where she had knelt when a poor, forsaken child, or whether it was her per- sonal interest in Egbert Hartsum, who led in these devo- tions, or whether that clever and pire-hearted youth was really eloquent in his brief remarks, and rendered tie services impressive in an extraordinary degree, or whether the unusual circumstances, the sublimity of the ocean, the vaulted, sky above, and the singular spectacle of sailors gathering around their commannder to worship God, were affecting, or whether all these combined in the effect, Estelle Saltore felt then, as she had only felt bly gleams before in her worldly life, that there is truth in religion, and in that truth an inner truth, ]known and expressed only by a devout heart that believes the Bible and lives for God. As regularly as two bells struck, she took her place each morning with the worshipers at this "1 Bethel " altar. She listened approvingly when the third mate, ii plain words and sensible thougllts, explained the practical duties of religion. His expositions of the higher gospel , ' " \ THEi VOYAGE. 283 trunths sle confessed mystified her, and in her juldgment were useless. His prayers and all the services of a purely devotional chaxracter, she interpreted as best pleased her own poetical temperamentl and refined taste. And tile groo effect of tlhese religious services on the crew slhe remarled with wonder, and exultel il as reflecting honor, as she thouLht, on her soul's idol and hero, our yOUIng ,and ingenuo"us friend, Egbert Hlartsum. After all, we fear Estelle had never admired religion on shipboard had she not, first admired himn who was the centre and soul of it. So many things, often most carnal and worldly, underlie our approbation of that wrlich is good, God himself re- ceiving from us only the glory reflected from his humble servants! The Julia had earned for herself a peculiar reputation. It was superstitioutsly believed I by sailors in ports where she was well known, that she was mysteriously exempt from casualty and disaster, and that there was a necessity froom casualt, and lis)ster, I y for good conduct on the part of her crew, and, should any. one venture to perpetrate any act of wickedness on board of her, he would suffer some signal punishment .for his temlerity. The superstition helped to fulfil itself, by pre- venting bad men from enlisting, and sailors of the best class, added to the staunch seamanship of the brig, ena- bled her to weather, without so much as the loss of a spar, many a tempest that strewed the ocean with wrecks. There did, indeed, seem to be a special Providence caring for the Julia, so many years had she traversed the oceann and never once met with a serious mishap. Captain 'White acknowledged it reverently, and in his enthusiasm declared his belief that a child, if only innocent and good, could steer the virtuous brig across the ocean: Estelle, thereupon, essayed the whieel herself, but found, in spite page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 "THE JULIA." of the ship's obedience to the helmn, it needed more than a child's strength to hold her .against. a strong wind. The voyage to New York, however, was no exception to the Julia's reputed exemption from ocean perils. All was fair by day and night on the sea and. in the sky, the winds were propitious, the gulf stream hurried on by its cease- less and mysterious forces, and officers and crew were happy, expert and industrious, and missed not their morning worship a single day, nor failed to remember the Sabbath to keep it holy. Human nature, nevertheless, must have its ugly temi- pers everywhere, and even on board the Julia, where all seemed so unruffled and so pleasant, there was one man whose heart was out of sorts, and that man was tho Captain of the brig 1 XXXI. ARS Suetonis White in love with Estelle Saltore? H-e himself had difficulty in deciding the question. lic admired her; she liscinated him; and as hIe had never felt the sameinterest in any other woman, had ijever so suspecting Zand concluded by believing that he was in cThen followed another question which he found it still more difficult to answer-was his love reciprocat ed? He oould not tell; he feared it wasot. ie had followed her friom city to city, and even steered his vessel through hecean by the power of her attracti6n yet he could -the occanby the Pinn O in II o perceive no perceptible progress in his lobe-makilg, i p ronise of winning back theheart he was ready to lay 'i at her feet. From the first evening of their acquaintnce. her manner towards him had undergonef no change. It was alwaysthe same, free, unembarrassed, cordial, inter- eseted. She seemed from the first to receiv e him as Bertie's friend, and to repose unhesitating confidence in im as her fiend too-no more, no less! Any diffeenc in her manner, the slightest show of coyness, distance, ' doubt, might imply that she was at least askiug her own lheart questions. But no, there was no appearance of "c,art pesti. page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 "TII JULIA." even a surmise on her part if he were or could be any- thing more than her friend and Bertie's; and he dared not attempt, lie would not presume to be more. "Could she be in love with another?" he sometimes asked himself. The fear agitated him. But he never felt certain, and never h1ad a suspicion that he knew the object of that love, and that he was his own dearest, most cherished friend, till the Julia lhad left Havana and was out in the mid ocean. 2Now he knew aill. Words, looks, acts, unintentional and accidental, told more to an inter- ested spectator than the actors themselves were aware of. Estelle loved Egbert; Egbert was captivated by Estelle. And fbr Captain White, peace adcl hope had vanished with the beauty and enchantmnent of the last moonlight night in the harbor of Havana. Captain White grew moody and irritable. Estelle rallied him upon it, little thinking :whtat exquisite paini she gave; or did she know, and wish to extinguish all L hope? "It was well I painted 'your likeness in Cuba," she ventured once to say. "To be sure it cost me all mny yellow paint, but then I caught your hace without a scowl upon it, a sky without a cloud. See," she said, holdi-ng up the picture, "would you suppose that a literal likeness of our amiable friend?" Captain White tried to receive this pleasantry without manifesting resentment; but it entered into his soul, and from this time he absented himnelf as much as possible from the cabin. The loss of his society cost Estelle no pang; she never was handsomer, never more mirthful, and the consciousness of this made Captain White more hope- less, more miserable and more morose. And Egbert, how was it with him? By turns he was TIIE CAPTAIN ADRIFT. 281 merry and sad. Merry under Estelle's magic influence, sad when away from her. And sometimes he would start from her side, seek some retired nook on deck, and pa lss in the instant froma the mirthful mood into the disconsolate. "What are you looking at?" asked Estelle, on one ot these occasions, having fbllowed him quickly and found him bending over the vessel's side, and gazing down into the ocean. - '"At the water," he answered, abstractedly. He might have said more truly, "At Carrie Foster's face," which at that moment was present in his thoughts. But Estelle was disposed to look at the ,water too, and she 'stayed by his side, and looked with him, and talked to him, till at last he foirgot both the water and sweet Carrie Foster andcl thought only of the wonderful Estelle. The voyage drew. near its end. It was evening, and I only one day's sail from New York. Estelle sat on the deck; Captain White took a seat beside her. It was an unusual attention, but a silent one, for he never opened. his lips to speak. f 'I!"How handsome he is!" exclaimed Estelle, of a sudden. '"Who?" asked the captain, indifferently; he knew well enough that her eyes were following Egbert Hart- sum about the deck. "Mr. Hartsum. Who else?" she replied, with a touch / of spitefulness. ' Yes, he is," remarked the captain, changing his man- ner froml indifference to that of great earnestness, "handsome, good, noble. God preserve him from temp- tation." , page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 "Tur JULIA." "Temptation!"Estclle scornfully exclaimed. "The good despise it." "The wise tear it. The truly good watch and pray against it," answered the captain, seriously. "Only one ever completely overcamne the Tempter. The rest must fill, or stand firmn and uncorrupted by the strength He imparts." "You're evangelical to-night, Captain White," Estelle replied satirically-. "Are you about to become 'a mem- ber,' as Egbert calls every one who receives the sacra- mxent?" "I wish I were," answered the captain, gravely. Silence ensued, Estelle grew tired of his company; his serious mood was not enlivening. She moved as if about to leave. The captain prevented. "Allow me to detain you, Miss Saltore. The subject of which we were speaking is one on which I have some- thing more to say. I may not havle a better oppor- tunity." , ? She gave him her attention. He hesitated. "It is awkward to say what I must," he began. "You will give me credit for reluctance and for every possible degree of respect, the warmest admiration, veneration I may say, for yourself." "Well, sir?" she said, with the air of one prepaied for something unpleasant, rude perhaps. "Do not hesitate. I reciprocate you feelings so far as the respect goes.". Thle captain sighed, as if he would say, "is that all?" But he caught himself in the act, and precipitated him- J self more hastily than he had intended into his subject. "The intimacy between Egbert and yourself must be terminated, at least so long as you remain upon the stage," he said.. !, ' ' . t T IE CAPrTAIN AD UIFT. 289 She drew her shawl more closely around her, and drew herself up proudly and resentfully. "You know the reputation of the stage," he continued. "And you cannot fail to see, that Egbert, by intimacy with plersons on the stage, must suffer in his own fair and unsullied reputation with the world. Do not be angry. I am not imagining a possibility. I am simply stating what is a fact. Already has he suffered from this cause. lie is now on this vessel for no other reason. He has fallen under the suspi'cion of his employers." "Cruel! base!" cried Estelle with passion. 4 Will this bitter enmity, this unchristian prejudice of those who call themselves 'good,' never cease to follow us with malice and heap odium on our names? Must we olr- selves lose caste? Must those who tolerate us fall under this over-righteous displeasure? Shall even such as Eg- bert be ejected froml their sanctimonious communion, because-" Excuse me," interrupted Captain White, alarmed at the lion he had roused. "Egbert does not suffer merely froml the fact that he has associated with those of your profession, but from other facts which have grown out of that. Let me tell you all that has happened, that you nmay judge the case for yourself; and, your own judg- ment, I am sure, will coincide with mine, that for Eg- bert's sake an intimacy that brings, him into associations, if not dangerous, at least discieditable, must be termi- nated. Pardon my plainness of speech. Those who have lived and been educated in the atmosphere. of the theatri- cal worldl, are themselves too prejudiced to judge the prejudices of that religious world whch regards tlhem with abhorrence, whether just or undeserved.." Again Estelle gathered her shawl around her, and 13 page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 "T[E JULIA."' seated herself erectly and firmly in her chair, as if deter- mined to exercise self-control, listen in silence, and smother her anger. But as she listened, her posture re- laxed; she leaned forward toward her companion; she breathed quickly; she seemed painffilly interested. "If Egbert has made one dangerous acquaintance," so continued the ciaptain, "among those who inevitably sur- round you, while onl the stage, he may another. Oze such he has formed--one who has solicited him to a dis- honest act, and, failing in this, has done twhat he could to injure himn in the estimation of his employers, and has so managed that his own crime is imputed to Egbert. That crime-I confide in you as Egbert's friend, Miss Saltore, thouglh without his knowledge-is the fraudulent issue of a note; a forgery-so the law would entitle it-of the name of his employer's firm." "And the name of the acquaintance is--" '"Let it be unspoken!" he interrupted; and turning away, as if to avoid hearing, lie bowed his head upon his hands, in an attitude of deep dejection. "No," answered Estelle, in a low, sweet, sad voice, "it must not be unspoken," and sinking her voice into a wlis- per, she added, " at least not betwen us, Suetonius Iaaze Blanche!" The captain sprang to hisfeet. "That name!" he cried. "That name a second time, and now not accidentally spoken! What do you mean? What do you know? Has Egbert-but no, he himself is ionorant." "Do not injure him with a suspicion. Be seated; listen. I will tell a story I fain would not tell; but more than one reason renders it advisable." The captain resumed his seat, and Estelle told her. story. k ' THE CAPTAIN ADRIFT. 291 "An orphan girl," so she said, 1 rich, romantic, unwise, married a man,. handsome, unprincipled, sordid. Pos- sessed of her property, he buried her in rural retirement, and spent his time and her money in the city of London. Years passed, and she died of a broken heart. Their son and only cliild, exasperated by his father's cruelty, fled the country and has never since been heard of in his na- tive land." She paused. "Egbert must have told you all this," said the captain drawing his breath. "Never!" she answered, emphatically; " but Egbert Hartsum made the acquaintance of a ship's boy, ii whom I was interested, because once, yearels ago, on thi: very deck, he showed me a favor. The name of that who I ascertained was Suetonius Haaze Whte. In age, ni the mother's family name, in the father's (Christian namne the correspondence is complete, and White is but Eng lish for Blanche! Assurance of the identity was sup plied accidentally on the very first night of our acquaint ance. Do you remember the start you gave when seemed to call you by that other ilame ' ' -Do you relnmem her how you sought the place on the sofa Egbert ha, vacated? And are you convinced now-that I speak witl knowledge?" "But yourself-how came you by this knowledge? asked the captain, eagerly. "I am in some sort, by a kind of adoption, your sistel At least I have liked to think of you as a, brother. Tb interest I have manifested; the intimacy and familiarity have allowed, have all growni out of this fancy, that you are or would be eventually as a brother to me; not the I am really your sister, but you have a sister, who is--" page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 "T -IE J ULIA."' The sentence was interrupted by the captain's laying his hand on her knee and at the same time calling her attention to a distant light. The voice of Eoghert responded close by her side, ( I just came to show you that beacon, and also to remind you that the. evening is wearing away and it is rather cool for you, :Estelle, to sit exposed on the deck after so recently acclimating yourself in Cuba." Lizette just then appeared to urge the lady's instant retreat to the cabin; and Captain'White had to keep his impatience to hear all Estelle had hinted at for some more propitious opportunity. L '. * XXXXII. THE captain ceased to be cross. Estelle grew reserved I Egbert. was surprised at the sudden change in both but too busy the first day in port to make comments, for the captain kept him employed, while he himself was de- voted to the cre of Estelle and Lizette. The captain and Egbert sat by the basement fire thfl night after the rest of the family had retired. The cap tain was thoughtful and Egbert dull. "What shall wen do with ourselves to-morrow?" asked the latter. "I intend to pay Cle' a visit, answeredl the captain. The look of surpriso with lwhich this announced was received demanded some word of explanation. "' Cle', you know," said the captain, "is a silly child and pleased with anything. Doubtless she will go in ecstacies even at seeing me. It is a safe investment, Jwha ever you venture in the way of pleasin( Cle'. There are so few like her, willing and able to extract happiness out of anything and everything, it would be a pity to mi giving her a chance of doing the rapturous." "Dear Cle'!" exclaimed Egbert, who seemed uncon scious of the satire the captain meant; "I will go to she will be so glad to see us." T- page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 " TIIE JULIA." "And leave' your mother so soon?" asked the captain. Again Egbert was surprised, for he well knew and was sure the captain knew that his mother would be gratified at any pleasure g'iven to Clc'. It was plain the captain did not wish his company. His friend was growing mys- terious and inexplicable: once Bcrtie's company could in no circumstances be unwelcome to Sweeny White. "Estelle has returned to her old quarters in Le Grand, I suppose," said Egbert, after a few moments' silence. "No," answered. the captain. "She did not wish the public to know of her return to the city. She has gone to a private boarding--house s" "I am glad; where is it?" At this instant Sally entered the room. She came, she said, just to 'enjoy Mr. Bertie' before going to bed, for she was kept so busy, 'now that Sandy Forkes and hizzen was all there, she hadn't had time even to say how d'ye do.' The captain, not doubting that Sally would ' enjoy Bertie' best; alone, bid good night and retired. And Bertie for one hour listened to Sally's long narration of household matters, in all of which, she herself was, according to her own showing, the great factotum. The next morning Egbert found himself in the uncom- fortable condition of having nothing to do. He would not call upon Munnypen & Co., nor upon Mr. Foster, nor cared to put himself in the way of meeting any of his old church friends, for he remembered with bitterness that all these looked'upon him with suspicion, or at least with doubt. Captain White had left early in the morning without telling him. where he could find Estelle, so he was cut off from that resource. He amused himself with Fanny's baby, Augustus Sylvan us, till that youngster got into an ungovernable fit of ill-humor; "teeth," Sally said TnE MAATE ADRIFT. 295 it was. Then he passed an hour or two in desultory reading, picling up one book after another without be- coming interested in any. At last he bethought himself of visiting some of the poor folk whom lie once regarded as committed to his special care. They were near at hand. Some of them in Tipsy Alley; thither he directed -his steps. In tlle second house from the corner, fiont room, second story, lied aill invalid woman and her younyg daughter. They were very poor. But some ]kind lady, to him unknoiwn,'had found them out and mn'ade such liberal provision for their wants, that his visits to them of late had been more for the sake of speaking a kind word- than of affording pecuniary relief. He entered the house and ascended to' their room. The door stood open, and he entered without knocking. In the closet adjoining, as he saw at a glance, the sick miother lay upon her bed. Her daughter, a girl of some twelve years old stood by the bed, and beside !ler stood a lady, the one, perhaps, lhe thoughllt, ho had so befriellnded them. The lady was just taking her leave, and he heaid her distinctly say, "Can I do anything more for you ?" The voice was familiar; could lie ben mistaken? He' examined her more closely, and though her back was towards him, he was sure it was Estelle. "I see you wish to ask something of -me," she said again, in an encouraging manner, "What is it ?" "Please ma'am," said the sick woman, ' it is long since I heard a prayer. Mr. Hartsum always prayed with me when he used to come. And In am near to dying, and it seems that a prayer from you, Wholv e been so good to me, would be better than from anIy body except him.." "Pray!" exclaimed Estelle. page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 '"TI-E JULIA." "Oh, please do,'" responded the invalid. "Ill get a clergyman to come and see you." "That wouldn't be the same, please ma'am, as a prayer from you who's been so kind. And then I'm most dying, and mnight not be alive when the minister comes. And I want a prayer now, please. And' no one can do it for me as you." The voice was very earnest and very imploring, and Estelle seemed at a loss how to answer. "Don't you think I'm near dying?" asked the woman. "You seem to be very low," said Estelle. "And will youL refuse a dying woman's last request when she tells you that a prayer firom one who has been good to her will do her more good than the prayers of all the ministers in the land? ' But, my good woman, I'm. not used to praying. I had better get a clergyman. Or, perhaps, Mr. Hartsum himself will comlle to see you soon." "Perhaps, ma'am, it is n't right for me to urge it, but I try to pray and can't. And I do feel that if only you, who's been so good to nIme, would just say one word of prayer for me, it would help me so much. And, per- haps, ma'am, I'm dying now." The woman's importunity was unaccountable. Eobert felt sorry for Estelle, and was about to step forward to her relief, when, to his surprise, he saw her kneel down by the bedside. At the same instant a bevy of children burst out fromn the opposite room, and two laboring men, returning home to their dinners, came tramping and talk- ing through the hall. He stepped out and motioned to them to be silent, pointing into the room. His manner not, only hushed them, but attracted them. to the' door to see what was going cn within. There was silence. * e * t\ THE MATTE ADRIFT. 297 And then a full, rich voice pronounced the words "Our Father." That voice, so wonderful in its, power, like a sweet strain of music solicited every ear. The children crept into the room. The men pulled off their hats and bent their heads around the d'oor-posts to see and hear more plainly. She repeated the familiar words of the Lord's prayer. Yet it seemed to Egbert he had never heard that prayer before. She put a new meaning into every word. Every sentence was full of feeling. Each petition swelled into a comprehensiveness that embraced a thousand thoughts and sentiments, where it had seemed ordinarily to express but ole. And when she ended, and she added not a single word to the Divine words, Egbert could not have told whether he had been on his knees an hour or a minute. It was an hour, if judged by the thoughts and feelings that had passed through his soul, though the watch might have indicated only a few brief minutes. Estelle, rising from her knees slowly and turning away from the bed towards the door that opened into the room, beheld a singular spectacle. Egbert Hartsum still knelt in the middle of the room. A group of dirty, .aia ged, but quiet children, stood clustered together behind him, just as they might have done, ha(d they been listen- ing, for the first time in their lives, to the weird music of an Eolian harp. And by the door stood, half-bent, two rough men, in working clothes, one gazing eagerly and rather stupidly at her, and the other, with his head bowed on his breast and tears stealing down his cheek. As Egbert rose, she hastily bid the invalid good-bye, who would have detained her, and hastened to leave the room. The men respectfully made way for her. Egbert mechanically followed her, and was not sorry, before he 13* page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 "TIIE JULIA." reached the bottom of the stairs, to hear the children's voices, already loud and boisterous. It seemed to break the spell. He overtook Estelle on the' sidewalk. Her face was flushed as she spoke to him. , "How long had you been in that room?" she asked, anxiously. "I entered jus;t as you seemed about leaving, lhe answered. She looked relieved. "You heard, then, that woman's importunity. I couldC not refuse. You heard all that was said?" "Yes." "Then of course you know it was a mere matter of form on my part, to gratify the whim of a dying woman." "A matter of form?" inquired Egbert. "Yes. Of course I told the woman I was not used to praying.- You must hlave heard me, and know that I. was not a hypocrite to pretend to pray in reality. She said any word of prayer spoken by me would do her good, and, taking her literally, it at once occurred to me that I might repeat those very familiar words." "Estelle," said Egbert solemnly, "I do not understand you. You seem to be apologizing for praying. Apolo- gizing for repeating the Lord's prayer with an intensity of feeling that I never heard before. Putting into every sentence, it seems to me, the very meaning our blessed Sa- viour meant to convey. Offering this prayer, too, beside a dying woman. And now, you seem to be anxious to ex- cuse yourself for doing what God himself must have ap- proved, what silenced even those rude children, what made those rough men weep, what angels must have heard with joy, as they did the first prayer of Saul the . * ' ' THE MATE ADRIFT. 299 persecutor. Is it congruous, is it right, that you should pray thus, and then apologize for praying?" Egbert could hardly believe that Estelle was laughing; but she was. Her sweet, musical laugh was unmistakea- bly ringing in his ear. And it was with a laughing, ban- tering voice that she spoke in reply. "You foolish boy! I am an actress. Recitation is my daily practice. And do you think. among my various studies, I have neglected that wonderful prayer? Every word, every thought, I have pondered and practised upon. INo speech in Shakspeare has occupied me more, for none is more worthy the study of the artist. If I succeeded better than the drawling, 1(mothing, soulless preachers you have heard repeat it, this is only because I have some soul, and they have none!" Egbert was too shocked at once to answer. He could iot, would not believe, that that prayer was so impressive, because 'artistically relidered,' as mere artists would say. Dimly, too, but painfully, the thought suggested itself, that, if this were so, Estelle herself was'nothing but an actress, in other words a deceiver. After some moments of silence at last he spoke. "Estelle, I cannot, do not wish to believe, what your words imply, that you spoke that prayer without any other feeling than you may have when you repeat some fine passage of a poet in a scene that is only purely fictitious. It seems to me that you must have to-day, if never before, felt something of the spirit of real prayer. Tell me, truly, on your honor, did you not?" Estelle herself became serious. The earnest manner of Egbert made her so. Her answer was given in a voice subdued and very different from the bravura mode page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] :300 Tn E JULIA." in which she had tried to laugh away the impression of that solemn bedside scene. "You are partly right. I do not pretend to know what is 'the spirit of real prayer.' But it is true, that I felt to-day as I never felt before in uttering those words. But. this was all due to the circumstances. I was knetel- ing beside a dying woman, and in tie very room and on the very spot where I had first seen death. The past as well as the present helped to excite :my thoughts and feelings." She paused, overcome with painful recollec- tions. "Were those the rooms where you once lived?" asked Egbert, after a moment's silence. "Yes. Had you forgotten?" "Yes, or rather, I hardly knew. I never went to see you, you know?" Estelle remembered. And yet a shade passed over her face. Had he not then visited that sick woman from some interest growing out of the associations of the ]lace? She doubted. Trhey had reached Broadway. "Please stop that omnibus for me," she requested. He complied. And as he helped her in, asked, "May I not attend you?" "No.." - l "Where do you live?'" "Captain White will inform you," she answered. And the omnibus, already in motion, passed on, before he could tell her, what in fact she knew, that Captain White was not at home. * Captain White was absent a week; and on his return, in answer to Egbert's wondering question where he had been and what had happened, coolly answered, that, by previous arrangement, he had joined Estelle and Lizette joined E,,.,)telle an THrI A ATE ADRIFT. 301 on their route to Boston, and had left them in that city well and happy-Estelle sending much love to Egbert. Time hung heavy on the hands of the friends. The cap- tain impatiently urged the Julia's departure for England. "Fanny is kind," he sliid, " her children as pleasant as babies ever are, Long Sandy Forkes is good-natured, and your mother what she always was--but the house is not the same it used to be, Bertie. Monstrous dull, some- how; and I long to see old England!" page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] XXX III. THE dark Humber bore the Julia on her bosom, where I she shone like a pearl on an Ethiopian beauty. The crowded harbor matchedl not her model for grace and speed, and men used to all sorts of sea-craft stopped in their work to gaze again and again on the stranger brig that looked at once so light and airy, so staunch and strong, so trim and steadfast. It was with some difficulty that the captain could ex- tricate himself from the visitors, who boarded his vessel on one excuse or another, or without other show of apology than curiosity, and manage to get ashore. He returned late at night, wearied and disheartened. "It is as I feared," he said to Egbert, who was anxious- ly awaiting his report, "dear old Mag and her brother are both dead. This accounts for the return of the re- mittances undemanded. I had hoped she had only changed her place of residence; and so she has, but, alas for me, it is to a better world!" "Mag's death will put me to a good deal of trouble, and you too, I fear, Egbert," said the captain after some moments of silence. "How so?" he asked. (302) A RECOGNITION. 303 First of all, because she could have told me the fate of the old harness-maker, which I must find out for my- self now as I can. Again, she could prove my personal- identity, supposing it safe to do so, which may be'a mat- ter of difficulty now.") "Do you wish to prove it?" "One likes to be one's-self, don't you think so?" he answered, with a smile. "But I will be candid with you. I have received information' that I am heir to a consid- erable estate, which, of course, if my neck will be safe from a hempenrope, I would have no objection to claimn." "How could you have learned this? You never 'had a correspondent in England?" "No matter how," he answered with embarrassment. I have learned it from a source I cannot indicate, else I would have told you of it before. Even this much is ex- torted from me; for I must now invoke your personal aid in the matter. To-morrow we wilf go together, and find out, if we can, the fate of that. fierce old harness- maker. I will depend on you to ask the necessary ques- tions, which it might not be discreet for me to put. Should the result be favorabld, then I must scour the country for evidence, of my identity, and leave you in charge of the vessel. This is what I meant by giving you trouble." "Don't talk of trouble, Sweeny. Taking charge of the brig is only a pleasure. I only wish I could be of solna real service to you." "Thank you, Bertie, but there is another secret I have to confide to you. You know, long ago, on that Indiam cruise, when you asked my name, I gave you a paradoxi- cal answer?" , page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 304 "'THE JULIA." "Yes, I remember distinctly; you said that ' White was and wasn't your namne.' "' . "Just so. I shall soon, I hope, assume my real name. It is not exactly White,.yet like it. It is Blanche." "Blanche!" "Yes," and the captain walked hastily away, sending back a " good night., Bertie," as he disappeared down the companion way. The next morning they were early ashlore, and thread- ing the streets of the old town of Hull. "This is the Red Lion," said the captain pointing' to one of the most antiquated of the respectable-aged houses. "Here I dined with father that day." "The last time you saw him,"5 remarked Egbert, meditatively. "The last day I spent in England," answered the captain, evasively. "This is the way," he said again, after hesitating a single instant as to the right direction. "I cannot nistake it; every step is engraven on my mind. I have to turn a1nd look at you, Egbert, to be sure that you are not my i father himself walking by my side. The past seems so real as to make the present unreal! Oh, my friend!" and he shuddered, "If only God has spared me the shedding of blood! Yes; I know what you would say, it was innocently shed. But it was innocent blood too! I was that man's apprentice-bah! how 'I hate to say it-and he had a right to whip nie. God grant I may not be a '--. But I unman myself; come. This is the market place; that is the market house; there is Holy Trinity.' Grand, is it not? and yet, when I was a boy, yonder gilded statue of William III. received far more of my admiration. I remember, as if it were - tf A RECOGNITION. 305 yesterday, how awed I was by that poor mimic toy of royalty on horseback! But here is the by-street." They turned into it, and a minute afterwards he said, "Here is the alley,"' and they turned down that. He took Egbert's arm, and spoke now in whispers, gazing intently on the opposite sheds and houses as they passed along. "Yonder's the place," he whispered. "Yes, and still a harness-maker's shop; just as it was, save older and dirtier. Observe the' name, 'James Binder.' Ask for him. God grant it may be the very man, If it is, this is to be the sign," and he laid his hand on Egbert's shoulderl; "if doubtful, this," and he touched Egbert's arm; "if surely not, I am to step forward my- self and be the spokesman." They entered the sltop. Three apprentices were at work oln the benches. To the question, "Is Mr. Binder in?" the answer was, "Will be directly. Please walk into the office." That office! Captain White's nervous and rapid sur- vey told how well he remembered it. The boy, who had seated them there, darted away and out of the house. Eg'bert watcled him, and saw that nhe entered an ale- house opposite. In an instant he re-appearled and, return- ing to the shop and his bench, resurned his work. It was evident froin the manner of himself and his comrades, the few words they exchanged with each other, 'and the- glances they furtively cast into the office, that they were impressed with the quality, of their visitors. But the ,entrance of ' Bos," as they called him, terminated their observations. The instant that person crossed the threshold, the Cap- tain's hand was laid emphatically on Egbert's shoulder, and the captain himself walked away to the window. , . page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] )6 "'THE JULIA." ghert, expecting to behold a ferocious ruffian, was as- j nished to see only a jovial specimen of a coarse, Eng- 3h mechanic. He could not help casting a doubtful ok of inquiry at the captain; it was answered with an . suring nod. Mr. Binder approached slowly, either be- Luse he had imbibed too much ale, or because he really. ;eded the support of the cane with whiclh he walked. et, for his years, he was hale and hearty. "Mr. Binderl?" asked Egbert, as the harness-maker itered the office. "The same, sir. Will the gentlemen please be seated." Egbert resumed his chair, and Mr. Binfder himself roppedI heavily oi a leather-covered stool.: "You have occupied this place of business some time?" Lggested Egbert. "Yes, twenty years, 1mayhap," "You have had many apprentices during that time?" "No. A dozen, perhaps. There was Jerry Jenkins, ho took to drink afore he was eighteen; the smartest hlow I ever had, though. Could sing better than any 'the concert folks, and would have made a prize-fighter ' tch as England never heard of. Then there was little, ekly, dawdling Bill Smith, who -- * i "Never mind mentioning them all, Mr. Binder," inter- Lpted Egbert. "There was a boy apprenticed to you. )out thirteen years ago. I called to ask if you'liad any membrance of him,; or could tell me anything about m. His name'was Blanche." "Remember himn!' exclaimed the man. "I couldn't l ell forget him. He's writ his name on my old carcass in t ur places; 'four scars, sir, about as ugly as his own phiz, id that wasn't to be beat in that partickler! You never d see such a sour face as his was, and when he was g & A RECOGNITI ON. 3()7 angry, why, sir, the bad one himself couldn't have looked uglier. I had a short acquaintance with him, sir. It began and ended in a quarter of an hour., or so, mayhap. ]But 'twas too long for me, sir; and, yet, not quite long enough either; least, I've often wished to meet the fellow once more, just once, to pay off old scores. Perhaps I aint up to what I once was, for, witlout boasting, I've stood my ground with' some of the best. ]:'m old' now, sir, but I've strength for that job. If ever-that fello w, be's so he's alive, comes agin me, I'll give him a taste of that strop," and he pointed to a dirty thong of leather hanging on the wall. "I keep it a purpose to lather him with." lie turned towards the captain, to make sure that he also saw the implement of corporal 'punish- ment. The captain was regarding it with a very peculiar scowl, and Mr. Binder, with some trepidation, let his hand falll, and came to a full stop. "Then you have never met him since the day you refer to?"' inquired Egbert, smliling at the sudden evaplo ration of the harness-maker's direful vengeance, but anxious to divert his attention from the captain. "Not I," said Mr. Binder, keeping his eye still un- easily on the captain. But the scowl vanished, and. tile captain looked so calm, grave, dignified and apparently unint/erested in the conversation, that Mr. Binder was reassured. "I'll tell you just how it was," he continued, turning towards Egbert and recovering his loquacity: "His father comes here and asks me if I want an apprentice; ] says no, not particklarly. He says he will make it nn object for me to take lhi'm, and proposed quite liberalsome terms, so I agrees, and the papers was drawn." Ah, yes. Those papers, the articles of indenture-. "*' . page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 308 '; T:HE JULIA. " have you them still?" inquired Egbert, interruptipg him. "Yes. I keep them as a sort of curosity. Tley aint of any partickler use. Not just legal, I judge, and never recorded according to law." The captain drew his breath with a sense of relief. There was one less stain on the escutcheon of his gentle blood; for, though Captain White was a sensible man, he had an English weaknessswith regard to the purity of his gentlemanhood. Mr. Binder gave another uneasy look at the Captain; and saw only the same quiet, indif- ferent expression on his countenance. "Them papers," he continued, turningl again to Egthert, "were only a sort of 'blinder. The father was a leetle ashamed, seenmed and didn't want to spread out the evi- dence for every one to see.- And thlel papers were only meant to make the boy believe he was really bound." "'Will you part with those papers? . They may be of use in establishing certain points of fact involved in tlhe Settlement of a considerable property," remarked Egbert. r ' Well!" and Mr. Binder for the first time became deliberate. "If they're of value, you know,---and I'n poor- " "Oh, certainly," said Egbert. "I shall be happy to pay for them. Say--" and he showed a five-pound note. The man's eye twinkled. But the apparent youth of Egbert, coupled with so unexpected an offer,' suggested avaricious thoughts and made him hesitate. "' Well,-you see,--" he said, "I may not know .just what them papers are worth! " "This, or nothing!!" said Egbert, decisively, making a feint of restoring the note to his pocket-book. "You may have him," said Mr. Binder, eying the ffVC }ILNJ IICU UIII1 "J '"? 3 A RECOGNITION. 309 note incontilently. And rising from his stool, he hobbled to the hgh desk and took therefrom a very thin bundle of soiled papers. "This is it. Yes, there 's the names; his father's and mine own.' And the hink of them signatures wasn't dry- before this floor was all wet with my blood. I'll tell you how it was." And Mr, Binder, growing garrulous again, gesticulating with the. paper in one hand, and supporting himself on his cane with the other, stood in the middle. of the floor, looking alternately at Egbert and the cap- tainl, but most at the former, as he showed more interest, "The father birought the youngster here one afternoon, about four o'clock, precisely. He sent me word he was coining, and I got the boys out of the way, for we didn't want no witnesses, and that wasn't legal neither. Mr. Blanche he comes in and his ugly boy a with him. And lec says, 'Mr. Bindeir, I'm in a hurry. Where's the papers?' And I says, 'here.' And lie says, 'and here's the ten pound to close the bargain;' and he 'laid it down on that bench there. What a fool I be, I've often a, thought, not to put that note right into my pocket! But, I didn't. I left it lay there, and never see'd it again. And he says, ' Let's sign 'em. I'm in a hurry, Mr. Binder.' ' Walk in here,' says I. And he walked in. The paper lay just there. And he signed it and I signed it. It didn't tlake any time; though I was twice as long as he, 'cause not used to writing. 'NSow,' says he, 'I must go. Suetonius,' says he, (speaking to the boy--that was the chap's cur'ous name,) ' Suetonius, this," (pointing to mne,) 'is your master!' You should have seen how the fire flew out of that, chap's eye! 'Flog the ugly out of him, Mr. Binder,' says he, going out of the door as he said it." Mr. Binder's full tide of eloquence was at this instant page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 310 "T IIE JULIA." arrested by an accidental glance at Captain White, whose face was portentous. He became, instantly silent and edged nervously arway from the captain and nearer to Egbert. "Well, what then?" asked Egbert, who was really interested in the narrative. But MrI. Binder could not immlediately recover the thread of his story. "Ah,-yes,--" h faltered, "I was a saying,-but here's the paper, sir,"l and he managed to get Egbert between hinself and the captain, and while exchanging the paper and the bank note whispered: "I say, aint that some relation of the chap himself?" Egbert nodded. "I thought so. Bad blood!" he muttered. "You were telling us how it happened," said Egbert, encouragingly. ." r. Blanche went out-" i "Yes," he continued, less glibly than before, never : taking his eye off the captain, "Mr. Blanche, lie went out. The boy turned to follow him. 'Where are you going?' says I. And he looked back so imperdently, it made me mad. 'No you don't,' says I. I was spryer then than now."a And Mr. Binder, having averted his eye from the captain, became again more animated. "I just took hold of his shoulder, with such a grip as many men couldn't give. I wheeled him about into the room; locked the door; and put the key into my pocket. ' Norw, says I, 'you've got to mind me, and i' you don't '-and I took down this here strap," reaching up and remlov- ing it from t;,. nail on which it hung, " 'I'll try which : is the tougher hide, yours or oxen's!' I tell you what, his temper was worse nor a bull's, whatever his hide was- I've always meant to try that, too, if ever I get a chaince- keep the strap oq. purpose! Ask the gentleman's par- V* ' A RECOGNITION. 3 1 don," he said, suddenly recollecting the presence of the supposed relative, and glancing apologetically towards the captain. That glance produced an electrical effect. The strap dropped fromn Mr. Binder's hand.' His fat, red cheeks became a few shades paler. And his hands trembled go, that his very cane on which they rested beat a tattoo on the floor. "You took down the strap---" said Egbert, interested in the recital. But Mr. Binder did not answer. With his eyes riveted on the captain, he was edging towards the door, fairly trembling now in every limb and member. His hand was already on the knob-when, quick as a dart, the captain intercepted him. "I took hold of his shoulder with such a grip as few men could give," said the captain, between his grating teetl, suitingi the action to the word. "I wheeled himl about into the room--so-I locked the door and put the key into my pocket-so-I took down the' strap and-- the captain snatched the strap from Mr. Binder's tremu- lous hand and swung it over his head. "Sweeny, Captain!5" cried Egbert, catching hold of hs uplifted hand. 'The captain's' arm dropped. But his eyes still flashed fire and his breath was hissing through his teeth. "You old rascal," he said, "you have confessed a villainous deed-signing your name to an illegal document, becom- ing a party to a fraudulent transaction, and attempting to flog one on whom you had no right to lay the weight of your hand!. And now you declare your wish still to ex- ecute your purpose! I've a great' mind to--" and he raised the strap again. page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 312 "THE JULIA.' Mr. Binder stood before him, pale, speechless, helpless, like, the culprit he was. Sweeny, Captain!" exclaimed Egbert again, " an old man, and defenceless!" ' The captain flung the strap from him, walked to the window, and stood there wiping his brow; while Mr. Binder, more dead than alivei transfixed in the middle of the room, cast alternate glances of dread towards the captain and of entreaty towards Egbert. Directly the captain faced about. His countenance had undergone an entire change. It was suffused with a feel- ing of shame. "I have been wrong," he said. "It would have been ungentlemanly, cowardly, to execute mythreat. Mr. Binder, you---9- "I--I-beg pardon," stammered Mr. Binder, "I'd never-if I'd thought-a gentleman such as you-" "Never mind, sir," interrupted the captain, "we both must try to forget the past; forget, Mr. Binder, that is the idea I wish especially to impress upon your mind'. For my part, I am sorry I injured you, and most happy to find that the injury was not fatal, nor even so severe as might have been expected. I regret, also, that I just now threatened you with a chastisement that you richly deserve, but which I should be the last to inflict." The captain took out his poclet book. Mr. Binder filled up the pause with another broken attempt at apology. The captain interrupted him 'again, and said: "The ten-pound note which my father laid upon that bench, I took. I needed it. It was not rightfully yours, yet I shall repay it with interest to this date. You were confined to your bed some time and had to pay surgeons and physicians. Probably a hundred pounds will more than cover the whole amount." A RECOGNITION. 313 Mr. Binder rapidly recovered his spirits, and received eagerly the note which was tendered him. "That is all I can do at present," continued the cap- tain. "I may soon have it in my power to make it worth your while to respect my wishes. In the meantime, let me warn you against mentioning what has now passed to a living soul. You have been guilty of one atrocious crime for which I could hold you responsible, and also have you indicted for an assault and battery. The evi- dence of the one is contained in those false articles of indenture now in our possession. The other you have confessed and minutely described before this witness." Mr. Binder turned pale again. "Do not be alarmed, sir, we pledge our honor to say nothing of this on our part, provided you promise never to speak to another person of what has passed between you and me orr this and on a former occasion. You promise?" "I do, sir," he responded, eagerly, " on my honor!" "And now, sir, I hope we part good friends," said the captain, extending his hand. Mr. Binder took the hand. "Good-bye, Mr. Binder." "Good-bye, Mr. Blanche." "Good-bye," said Egbert, offering his hand. "Good-bye," returned Mr. Binder. The captain had already gone out. Egbert turned back, and, with a comical expression, asked, ' Mr. Binder, you would have no difficulty, if called upon in a court of justice, to swear that that gentleman is Suetonius' Haaze Blanche?" "None whatever," answered Mr. Binder, meekly. But he added, between his teeth, when the laughing " I page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 314 'THE JULIA.' Hartsum was out of hearing, 'Swear it! God never made two such ugly faces!" "Success so far," said Egbert, as the two friends walked back to the docks. "Dearly bought at such an ebullition of angry temper," answered the captain, sadly. "Dear Bertie, I am a firm believer in the most literall construction of the words, 'a man must be born again.' I have but to look into my own heart to know how radically wrong human nature is; I have but to recall my own experience to learn how impotent to rectify it any human effort is, unassisted by Divine grace." "That very knowledge," said Egbert, '" we may hope, is an indication of grace in your. soul." "I fear not. Else my anger could not be so inflanmma- ble, my temper so demon-like!" "You are too severe against yourself. Remember what you have been.. Is there not great improvement in this very matter of your temper? Would you once have recovered your composure so readily, and turned round so magnanimously and confessed your fault, as you did to-day to the old harness-maker?" "Nay, Bertie. You are false to your own principles. We must forget what is behind and consider what is pre- sent. It is enough that now I am so bad, too bad to suppose myself a Christian, no matter how much worse I have been in times past." They walked on in silence. "To-morrow I must be off into the country to hunt up testimony," observed the captain a:gain. "Where will you. find it?" "I wist not. I must first look for Betsey. To look for A RECOGNITION. 315 a Betsey in England is much like looking for a needle in a hay-mow. I have not the least idea of her last name, of her birth-place, of her relations, or of anything else con- corning her, except that she was mymnother's servant for many years. I shall venture a few inquiries in the neigh- borhood of my old home. She may turn up." *s- page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] XXXIV. * T HE shades of evening were filling when Captain [ White approached Thornbrake Cottage. He was not, as on his last visit, foot-sore and travel-wearied, but well- mounted and stimulated by a brisk ride from the neigh- boring village of Willoughby. Again, as on that former visit, he passed the ale-house where he intended to spend the night, and urged his horse forward to catch at least one glimpse of the old and loved place. He was almost too late, for the, twilight was shortened by a cloudy sky and misty atmosphere, and a drizzling rain began to fall just as he reached the gateway. Every thing betokened neglect and desolation. Fences down or tottering; shrubs and weeds growing where they listed; grass in the car- riage-way; broken and dried limbs pendent from the trees. It was plain that the place was unoccupied, and he might therefire venture in and take a nearer view of the house than he could catch from the. road. Slowly and sadly, the rain and deepening darkness shrouding his gloomy recollections of the dead past, he let his horse choose his own course by foot-path or carriage-drive, till he stopped in front of the old house. One hasty sur veyswas enough to assure him that it was uninhabited. The signs of disuse were painfully manifest: window shut- (316) ' , THE HAUNTED HOME. 317 ters closed; steps unswept; grass growing everywhere; and green moss clinging undisturbed between the stones. He made his way to the rear of the house, as on his former visit, and was roused from his reverie by the re- currence of what happened there, for he was again saluted with a r ay of light streaming from the kitchen window and by the challenging bark of a dog, not his own old favorite bull-terrier, but a surly black cur. Iis approach attracted no other attention. He dis- mounted, tied his horse to a post and rapped on the door with his riding whip. It was opened, and opened by- could he believe his eyes? by Betsey herself. "Betsey! is that you? You, and here yet? How's this?" Betsey staring, wondering, doubting, speculating, was long in bringing out her response. "Bless me! is it you, Master Suetonius, or isn't it? and where did you come from?? "Don't you know me, Betsey?" "Yes, dear, bless me! only how can I know you, sir?" curtseying with a new feeling of respect; a tribute to his changed appearance and demeanor, that, the captain was amused to observe in one that had been his sworn enemy. "You could swear to me, Betsey?" he asked, smiling. "Yes, dear-yes, sir," correcting herself quickly. "For all you're grown, nobody else ever looked like you with them cross lines down your forehead, dear, and- Excuse my liberty, please, sir! ; And thus poor Betsey vibrated between the "dear" expressive. of no affection and of a great deal of famil- iarity, and the "sir" significant of great respect and hu- mility. She could hardly finish a sentence because of the interfering phrases of old habit and new deference. If page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] 318 "TI:E JULIA.;' she began in one form she was sure to end with the other; treating him now as the boy she used to scold, "and now as the man she must obey. "' What are you doing here, Betsey? and who owns the house? ' "Nothing aud nobody, sir," was the paradoxical answer. He looked at her for an explanation. "Nobody owns the house, dear. It isn't sold. The spell is on it yet and the dear lady a-dying of inches--" "Why, if nobody has bought it," interrupted the cap- tain, "then father owns it of course! "No, he don't, dear. It belongs to nobody, except to Attorney Juster, for he's the only one that does anything about. it. You see--But walk in, sir, and please be seated." He accepted her invitation, and stepped in out of the rain, in which both had been standing, too much inter- ested to be conscious of outward inconveniences. "You see, dear," Betsey continued, "that very soon after your visit- Bless me! how long ago that was, and I left alone in the house with the mistress a-dying of inches up-stairs, sir! Not long after,'just when the mas- ter had a look to sell the house, Attorney Juster, him from Willoughy, comes out with a Will, all written, sealed, signed and all, by the dear lady a-dying of inches up-stairs, and giving everything to you, dear, they say." The captain started at this information, and the sudden joy in his heart that Thornbrake Cottage was indeed his own, wTis too intense for utterance. "And so he, that's Attornlty Juster took the house and wouldn't let anybody else take it; because, he said, you had gone out of the country, or into the country, nobody knew where; and THE HAUNTED HOME. 319 he let me and my man stay here, to keep some kind of order, you know." . "Your man! Are you married, Betsey?" "Yes, sir," she said, apologetically. "You see, old Growler died, and I was so lonely-like writh the poor lady a-dying of inches up-stairs, that I told Bill Cleaver, that's the son of Pete, you know, down by,the mill, that he might, and so he did; and so he's my man, dear!" "Oh! "Yes, bless me! dear. But I'm glad to see you, for Attorney Juster stopped here as he was passing by to Assizes last week ; and lhe s:aid that the master was a try- ing to prove you dead, dear, and he didn't know but you was dead, and I most wished you was, dear, that some- body might own the house-it's so lonesome-like with the mistress a-dying of inches up-stairs." "'an I stay here to-night, Betsey?" "Bless me, yes, (de r. And I'm sure I'm glad to have most anybody, for my man's no great company, with the mistress a-dying of inche1s ll-stairs. And, indeed, if she gave the house to you no one's a better right; and I might better ask you, Mr. Suetonius, if I might stay, sir." The feeling of respect came over hler more strongly than ever, and she curtesied lower tan. before. '"We can't nake you over comfortable, sir, things is so old and crumbly-likc!" "Put yourself to no trouble on my account. Only give me my old room, and anything to eat you happen to have. I'll make out well enough. Where's your hus- band?" "He's here, sir." A call brought him from some neighboring covert-- a simple, awkward boor. ? t .Hf page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 320 "Ti IE JULIA."' "Can you take my horse to the ale-house," asked the captain; "or," heasked, on second thoughts, looking at the man with doubt, on the score of stupidity, "can I stable him here?" "Bless me, sir," said Betsey, " there's stable-room and hay, but nothing else!" Forthwith Bill Cleaver was dispatched to the ale- house for provender; and the captain with his own hands tended his horse, placing him in the very stall where he had so often petted Fancy, his old pony. It was not much he slept that night. Having gone through and over the whole house, recalling the past, searching anew for books and papers, in drawers, and desks, and closets, taking possession of a few articles overlooked or undervalued on his former visit, at last he went to bed, to think and to plan and hear the rain drop- ping and repeating, as it seemed to do over and over again Betsey's crazy phrase about " the mistress a-dying of inches up-stairs." He was up before day-light, and, after the best break- fast Betsey could contrive, was mounted and ready to start. "You'll be going to see Mr. Juster, at Willoughby?5' curtsied Betsey, as she received his parting gift. "No, not to-dy." "Bless me, dear, but I would; and give the old house an owner once morle."' ' I have to go maany miles to the west. But I shall be back soon. In the meantime, Betsey, please, neither you nor your husband say a word to any one about my having been here."' "Bless me! No, sir. . But I'm afraid, if you go off, the spell wont be broken, and you'll neither die, dear, 321 THE HAUNTED HOME. 3 nor come :back, and the old house with the mistress a-dyng of inches up-stas will have n owner for neve!" "'ll1 see you again shortly," he replied, encouragingly. But the doleful prophecy of Betsey, into whose spirit the loneliness of the place had entered, till the lady dying of inches had become a reality to her imagination, sad- dened his thoughts, as he rode through the neglected, forsaken grounds. There did indeed seem tobe a spell on Thornbrake Cottage. I iii. A, / page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] X XXV. B ut 1gauutW d HW i ' TWO days after, Captain White was in Macclesfield, among the mills and factories, inquiring for one Rich- ard Scrummadge. After many fruitless efforts to learn something of the person to whom this name belonged, he happened to pass an old and almost dilapidated factory, which instantly suggested the idea that there something could be heard of REichard Scrummadge. It would be difficult to assign any reason for his thinking so, except this, that Richard Scrummiadge was an odd and old sound- ing name, and this factory was a queer and ancient look- ing edifice. He acted on the thought, smiling at his own absurdity, and approached the buildIing. He was disap- pointed to find it tenantless. Neither the sound of ma- chinery, nor any sign of life gave promise of even a chance for inquiry--while the broken sashes and grass growing about the door-step showed how long the factory had been disused. Nevertheless he persevered. A knock on the door brought no answer. He turned the handle, the door opened. He found himself in a small 'hall; with a door on either hand, and another opposite to him, and beside that door a window, suggesting at once the idea of an office window, whence orders might be passed, and, on pay nights, money dealt out. He approached the window and looked in. The room was bare of any (322) . . ..;j TrE HAUNTED AlILL. oo furniture save one chair, and one high desk and stool over in the corner. On the stool sat a figure so still and motionless that the captain could not make it out. Di- reetly it moved, and the captain started back from the window. He knocked at the door, and received no answer. He knocked again more loudly, and this time received the answer, "come in." He obeyed it. An old man, with thin gray hair, bent figure, and shabby clothes, breathing asthmatically from the haste with which he had descended from the stool, and, as the captain surmised, from the excitement attending the unusual event of a visitor in that forsaken place, confionted him and endeav- ored to ask his business. "Excuse me. I fear my curiosity has disturbed you," said the captain, elevating' his voice-for he perceived at once that the old gentleman was deaf. The captain was disposed to put his visit on the ground of curiosity, be- cause he was, in truth, ashanmed to confess that he had entered such a deserted place with any expectation of receiving the information he was in quest of. "I thouht the building unoccupied aa a place of buisiness now." "So it is, sir." The old man saw the caltain glance at the open books on the desk, which, together with his own presence there and his pen over his ear, seemed to indicate the transac- tion of some sort of business. "Nothing done here," he said. "'The machinery all gone." The old man's sentences were cut short by an incessant hacking cough. Hle hurried through each as if running a race with the cough; eliding unnecessary words, and trying to finish before he would be obliged to. "Seldom any come- in that door-but me. Have outlived friends-except these," pointing to the books, page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 324 "TaH JULIA." "You were once connected with tiis establishment, then?, asked the captain. "For fifty years--spent my days here. All those-, pointing to a pile of'ledgers, day-books, letter books, and the like, on the floor, nearly, my writing.--. "And you come here every day? "Yes. Have nothing else toL-and these books talk to me as--they cannot to others. Live over the past, sir.- :Men come and go--orders received--goods dispatched -abcounts balanced --speculations discussed--all over again, sir. World outside--not so busy to me sir, as this old office. Every item hele"-- placing his hand on tlhe open ledger--"l has its history., The captain drew near and glanced his eye over tire pages of uninteresting ellthes, while the old man tuirned the leaves, evidently pleased to exhibit the neatness of his own work. The captain praised without reading, till his eye rested on the top of the page where the name ' John Blithely," was written in a large round hand. "John Blithely!" read the captain aloud; with evi- dent astonishmen;. "Is it possible that these were his "You knew--,? asked the old man, as well as his cough would let him. "Have heard 'of him. And you, sir, was his clerk. May I ask your name?"The captain already sur- mised it. "Richard Suummadge--Blithely's head clerk--near forty years, sir." "Indeed!" exclaimed the captain--throwing so much respect into the exclamation as captivated the old man, and induced him to invite the captain to take a seat, and to proceed to expatiate on the greatness of Mr. John THE HAUNTED MLL. 325 Blithely and the grandeur of his business operations, with all the volubility his asthmatic difficulty would allow. Now, though Captain White had been some hours en- deavoring to find this very Richard Scrummadge, John Blithely's head clerk, he chose to conceal that fact from Mr. Scrummadge himself. "Had Mr. Blithely a family?" asked the captain. "Yes. Married late-an orphan girl-benevolence- she died-one child, Mary Blithely-sweet, pretty crea- ture, sir-used to sit on the books here--always with her father." "What became of her?" Married-after father's death-unfortunate-went to London-husband spent every thing--left her-went to America. She and child followed him. She died there." "Was the property entirely squandered by her hus- band, did I understand you?"' "All that he could get. There were some depreciated stocks-since revived-and pay dividends, Then, in look- ing over the books here-I found old debts,-and, by collecting and investing these, have managed to, secure a little income for her child." "How much?" "50 quarterly-it has been.--Hereafter, 80. "And this money you transmit regularly to the child." "Yes. Rather to her father as guardian.." "You yourself act in this matter as agent?" "No, executor.-John Blithely made me his executor." "And, you believe that the money you send to America all goes to support Mary Blithely's child?" "Certainly-else I would not send it.--Her father has tried to get hold of principal.--I've secured. that." 8 . -. . page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326 "TuE JULIA.." The old man, delighted to have such an interested li s- tener, proceeded to show, item .by item, how faithfully he ,dealt by John Blithely's grandchild. Devoting himself to the study of tlese old books, every old debt, large or small, he had noted, and by patient perseverance had managed to collect either in whole or in part. And lie related with great satisfaction his recent success in secur- ing a payment that he lad regarded as hopeless; and his expectation soon of realizing a still larger amount. It was a singular instance of unselfish laboriousness; for the captain ascertained that Mr. Scrunmrnadge derived no per- sonal benefit ifromL his industry whatever, charging no com- mission for his services, and yet living himself on a very small annuity that hardly met his scanty wants. He was satisfied to find employment for his else unoccupied time, and to gratify his affectionate remembrance of his old employer John Blithely, manufacturer. Having extracted all the information he could from the old man, Captain White took out a package, and, open- ing it, displayed a miniature. "Do you know that?" he asked. Mr. Scrummadge's eye-sight was affected by age, as well as his hearing. He took the picture and carried it to the window; then, almost dropping it in his surprise, he exclaimed "that's her husband!" "Now look at this one," :said the captain, handing lhim another of much newer appearance. The old man looked at it long, and shook his head. "Looks a little," he said, "not quite--like though. Is it her child?" "Yes. And now please tell me who is this," and lie gave him a third miniature. This time the, old man did not speak, not because he THE HAUNTED MLL. 327 was in doubt, but because he could not. The tears streamed down his cheeks, and he was obliged to resort to a red cotton handkerchief so small that the wonder was how he could ever find it in his very capacious pocket. u I suppose," said the captain inquiringly, "that is Mr. John Blithely himself?" Mr. Scruminadge nodded. And then, having dried his eyes, suddenly asked with vehemence, "'Pray, who are you?" "The son of Suetonius Blanche, was the answer. Mr. Riclhard Scrummadge looked appalled. "Mr. Scrummadge," said the captain, after a moment's silence, diring which the old man had not recovered from his surprise, "you will do me a kindness not to mention the' fact of my visit to you to my father, by letter or otherwise, till you hearl fromn or see me again, and in the meantime to transmit to him no moneys intend ed for your ward, Mary Blithely's child. For I assgtre you, notwithstanding your prudence and fidelity, not one farthing you have sent to him has ever been of bene- fit to her." Mr. Scrummadge looked miserable and confounded. He received mechanically the captain's parting shake of the hand. And the captain left him dreaming in the old desolate factory. page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] XXXVI. Anton -.4il 9 I'd I' THREE days afterwards the captain was riding over the I moors of Lancashire. As he looked around on the wild moorland scenery, he could not help thinking how uncon- genial it must have been with his mother's nature, and how congenial with his own. Hl e surely should have been born here, and she at Thornbrake Cottage.. When he came in sight of Clinchley Hall, these impressions were deepened. His heart went out to the old, dreary-looking abode at once, and at the same' instant he understood how solitary his mother's childhood had been, how her imagination had outgrown her judgment, how she had become infatuated with romances, and how she fell so readily into the snare of an imprudent marriage and dis- tracted love. Clinchley Hall was a low, grim, strong edifice, built of' stone, even the roof was stone. It was unprotected by a single tree, or higher eminence than that on which it was erected, but stood exposed to the filll blast of the winter's wind and the full blaze of the summer's sun. A heavy gathering cloud, threatening every moment to discharge itself, afforded the captain a pretext, should any be needed, for riding up to and entering the house. He saw that the (328) THE HAUNTED HALL. 329 windows were open and rejoiced at this evidence that some one was in charge of the house, totsave him the trouble of a burglarious entrance. A paling in front of the house inclosed what had been an attempt at a flower- garden, now reduced to a few thin shrubs and square beds hardly distinguishable from the walks between them. Fastening his horse at the gate, he walked slowly np the broad, flagged pathway, stopping again and again to admire the old edifice, which looked to him, and he could notdispossess himself of the idea, and liked it for its drollery, like an old, hard-featured crone, with a square cap and ruffle of the olden time hanging low over her brow and deepening the shadows of an habitual frown, The massive stone steps, six in number, formed a fitting. entrance into this substantial mansion and'had a peculiar grandeur of their own, which was set off by the heavy iron railing, terminating in a dragon's head on either side. Each step was a solid block of stone, seemingly runningo back to the foundation wall of the building, laid one on top of the other. These stones, originally roughly hewed and laid unmortised in their places, had hardly known the touch of hammer and chisel, yet now were smoothed and dressed by time, and by the hundreds of feet that had passed over them. At last he mounted and rang the bell violently. His summons was answered much sooner than he expected and by a well-dressed serving-man. "May I ask shelter for myself and horse till the shower is over?" "Yees, sir, the master'll make ye welcome." "The master! Is not Herrick Haaze dead?" "Yees, sir, it's the new master I mean." "Come in, sir, come in," exclaimed a voice from the page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] 330 "TrHE JULIA." other end of the hall, and a gentleman instantly appeared, following the voice. "I thank the shower for sending me a visitor inthis solitude," he said. Captain White could hardly credit his senses of hea'r- ing and seeing, but if they did not. deceive him, it was his own father who confronted him. "Mr. Blanche, I believe," he stammered out, betraying his recognition before he had time to collect his wits. "You know me, I perceive," said Mr. Blanche, shaking hands, and looking at him attentively, " and your face is not unfamiliar. I saw you-was it not at the glorious Stella's? Yes; and your name?" "Captain White." "Ah, yes, a fiielnd of young Hartsum." Mr. Blanche led the way inito the room from which he had emerged, a square dining-room at the extrenmity of the hall, with high ceiling, deep 'window-recesses, stone mantle of enormous proportions, and scanty furniture. A large oak table, black with age, occupied the centre of the room andc was garnished with bottles and glasses. Mr. Blanche placed a chair by his own near the table for his visitor, and indicating the liquors contained 'in the bottles, placed them within the reach of his visitor, and resumed his own chair and glass. "A sad fellow that young HaIrtsun," remarked Mr. Blanche as he seated himself: "As pure, true and noble a spirit as ever breathed!" answered the captain, with burning indignation. "What that man must be who woulld seduce, or failing in that, injure him, I will not say,. "I see, I see; a particular friend of yours. I should have remembered it. Pardon me. He has related to you a little transaction that occurred once; a practical test I had THE HAAUNTED HALL. 331 occasion for. He stood the proof, I am happy to say. In point of honesty, he is, or was, invulnerable; but he is a sad fellow I assure you, Captain White; you'll find him out yet!" / The captain exercised all his self-restraint and did not reply. This was easier because his mind was intent on another subject: What was his father doing there? How did he come to be the master of Clinchley Hall? He must find out. "I thought you were a permanent resident of New York, Mr. Blanche; it is not many months since I saw you there." "Yes, and I hope soon to return. I've been a prisoner in these forsaken, detestable moorlands, and in this haunted old house, some three months; a legal prisoner here, I may say," and M;. Blanche laughed at what lhe intended- as a witticism; " that is, I am here by legal advice. My lawyer says possession is nine-tenths of the law, so you find me in unwilling possession till my right an'1d title to this estate is clearly established.", "You inherit this property, then?" "C Yes."' "Mr. Herrick Haaze, then, was a relative of yours." He was the uncle of my wife." Ah, I see," said the captain, carelessly, "he left the property to your wife, and the heirs-at-law are raking up some old question of entail against the devisees." "Not at all; he left it to my son, and he dying intestate, I myself become the heir-at-law. No ,entail is even pretended." "Your son is dead, then," said the captain, gravely, with apparent sympathy. "Yes, sir," answered Mr. Blanche, in the same tone, page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] ' * HE:E JULIA n avoiding the captain's eye., He resorlted to his glass for of grief, and( exclaimed with impatience, as he st his empty glass on the table and shoved it from him, " and I'll be dead, too, soon, if this plaguy title is not settled I, "It seems a very simple matter, Mr, Blanche; even the awyers can hardly raise a question.", "Not so very simple. I have to prove frst that my son is dead, and then that he died after Herrick Iaaze; for dying before him, a distant branch of the family become heils, and tey are contesting the facts."' "And can there be any difficulty in proving two such simple facts?, questioned the captain, pertinaciously. The misery of the case is this, sir: My son, many years since, whoen but a youth, a boy, chose a sailor's life and shipped without my knowledge. The fact that he had gone to sea I learned from an old servant, ' MLIag,' we called her, who had been the boy's nurse and had spoiled him with indulgence; but the name of the vessel in which he sailed she would never divulge. Neither bribes nor threats could exthrt it." The captain liked to have betrayed himself at this point by a too audible ejeculation of the words, "Dear Mag!" "From that day nothing was heard of my son till within a twelve- month or so; when he was lost at sea. Now, sir, you see everything: depends on the proof that he was lost, at sea a year ago.", "I perceive. it pity it. is that he perished at Sea, inll- stead of dying a christian death at home. It is a cdifli- cult matter to prove, and open to suspicion, you know. It is so easy to get i'id of men by imaginining them in the depths of the ocean. But not so easy to drag up the evi- dences of their decease from that vast receptacle. By- , . THE HAUNTED HALL. 333; the-by, have you certain proof of the important fact; that your Son was lost at sea within the time required?'" "Indisputable!" exclaimed Mr. Blanche with empha.. sis. He had felt the satirical spirit of the captain's re. marks. "Did he fall overboard, or was he wrecked?" "Wrecked sir, wrecked." "Excuse me.. I am a sailor, and keep myself informed of all nautical calamities. What Wreck was it?" "You remember ' the 'Mystic,' lost on the Florida reefs just a year since?" "Perfectly. Every soul was lost. The very names of the crew unknown. A new crew it was, shipped at Rio, you remember. You cannot mean that your son was on board that ship?" "He was. It was supposed that all perished, but two men," and Mr. Blanche changed his seat as he spoke, 'were miraculously saved." ' Ah, how fortunate! But if they were saved, your son may yet turn up?" "No. They swear positively that they saw him go down. Floated with them some time on the bulk-head, became exhausted, and sunk before their eyes." "Ah, that's clever. You are 'sure of it?" Something in the captnin's tone was very irritating. Mr. Blanche was annoyed, and answered with asperity. "If you are incredulous, Captain White,' the men are in this house now, and you can question them for your- self." "I should very much like to see them, Mr. Blanche. A sailor loves to meet brother sailors and talk over the ad- ventures of the sea. Besides, I fear some of my old shipmates were on the Mystic when she went down, -Ir I 1 page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] ' I'HE J ULIA., and it would be a great satisfactionl to me to ascertain the truth from these men." Mr. Blanche recovered his good nature, rang the bell, and ordered the sailors called. They came. "How do you do, mly hearty!" exclaimed the captain, as the two approached. "Zeke Smith, as sure as I live!, How do, Capt'n White. Glad to see you, sir." And the old tar shook his hand. "And you, good fellow," said the captain, addressing the other sailor, "I have not the pleasure of your ac. quaintance, but give us a hand. We're brothers, all. Well, Zeke, " he said, turning to thbat worthy, and placing himself where he could have full command of his father's countenance, "let's see--it's just nine months since you landed with me at New York in the brig Julia. Is it not?" ' "Aye, sir." "And ybu shipped with me that voyage from Madras, and we were live months from Madras to New York?, 'Aye, sir.' Captain White looked quizzically at Mr. Blanche, who sat fixed and mute in his chair, reddening with vexation You had leen in llndia some time before you shipped' with me?" suggested the captain, continuing his cate- chism. "Two months, sir. Came to Madras from Calcutta to find a ship." ;You went to Calcutta--in what hip, and how Iong on the passage?" "In the Geraldine, from Boston, sir, and was seven months going out, sir." Exactly! Seven and two are nine, and five are fou- teen, and nmne are twenty-three. Just about two yeas , s, ; 'f . , * .; THE HAUNTED HALL. 335 since you sailed from Boston for Calcutta, and just nine months since you arrived in New York from Madras. That's the arithmetic of it, hey?" "Aye, sir." "Aye! Now, Zeke, I cannot precisely see how you could have been one of the crew of the Mystic on her last voyage. She went down a year ago last month, and at that very time you were with me, in the brig Julia, some- where on the ocean between India and America. I can- not make it out, exactly, how you managed at the same time to be on the Florida reefs and so miraculously ,saved from Davy Jones' looker. I rather suspect your, memory got twisted when you swore that this gentle- man's son was your shipmate on board the Mystic and that you saw him go down in the salt." Tie sailor turned his quid in his mouth, gave his trow-. sers a hitch, and then with a queer leer of his eye, half whimsical, half deprecatory, brought out his answer. i'Guess I misremember, capt'n. And I'm almost as sorry that yoc, Capt'n White, should know vI'd done it, as-that I have done it. Fact is, capt'n, I've been kept h1alf-seas over with double grog, or my conscience, wouldn't have let me! It wouldn't, sir!" "I am sorry, too, Zeke. Sorry that any man who has sailed on the 'Julia' should bring reproach on her fair name. I never should have suspected you. And now, tell me truly; has not this fellow's memory, about that miraculous escape and the loss of this gentleman's son., played him as scurvy a trick as your's did you?" Guess it has, capt'n."' "Get out of my house, you infanmus scoundrels!" vo- ciferated Mr. Blanche in a rage, iumping from his chair and shaking his fists at them; "if you're not off these ,-Ir I . 5 page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] 336 "TnHE JULIA." premises as fast as you can run, I'll have you indicted my- self for perjury!" The men, unmoved by his threats, squared up towards him and showed themselves ready even to anticipate his assault by striking the first blow, whqreupon Mr. Blanche, shaking his fists, no longer at them, but at everybody and anything without particular direction, gave vent to 'his anger in fuming and muttering to himself. "Look here- old one," said Zeke Smith; " if you want to fight, we're ready, alid if you want to inform agin us, we're ready for that, too. Ary way 'twill go harder agin you than us. You got us into this scrape, and least you might do is to steer us out of it.1" "You had better go, boys," interrupted the captain.' "Get out of England as soon as you can. You'll find the Julia at Hull, if you'd like to ship in her." "Daren't go in the Julia right on top this, capt'n,"' said Zeke, looking as he felt, ashamed of himself. ( Hain't no desire to learn, by personal observation, who was lost in that Mystic, yet awhile." "Don't be superstitious, Zeke," said the captain, re- provingly. Zeke shook his head as one that knew what he wIas about, "' Can't soil her decks, capt'n. Have too much respect for her and for you too, Capt'n .White. Besides, my life is valuable."' "Do as you like, only leave England," said the captain, extending his hand. The two sailors shook it heartily, uttered a gruff "good- bye" to Mr. Blanche, and disappeared. Mr. Blanche was walking the floor in a state of dis- agreeable excitement. "An unpleasant business this, Mr. Blanche," remarked the captain, pathetically. THE H AUNTED HALL. 337 "Very," responded that gentleman, feebly, resuming his seat, and trying to look and be composed. "Suborned witnesses, kept in your house to be under your thumb," continued the captain, without changing his voice. "You are insulting, sir!" cried Mr. Blanche, recovering his passion. "Permit me to inform you that the shower is over, and if you have amused yourself sufficiently at my expense, you are at liberty to go." "I think I shall not, though," answered the captain, coolly. "We must become better acquainted. In fact I have an interest in the matter of this inheritance, my- self." "You!" exclaimed Mr. Blanche, savagely. "What's your interest in it? You are not one of those," and he characterized them with an unearthly name, "fiftieth cousins, are you?" "I am Suetonius Haaze Blanche, Ezglish, White." The father turned pale. He could neither speak nor move his eyes from the frowning countenance of his son, which wore that terrible scowl of angry defiance he could not fail to recognize. "Father," said the son, not without sadness in his his voice, ' you have derived a small income as the guar- dian of Mary Blithely's child, for whose welfare you have manifested no interest, and who would have starved but for the bounty of strangers. I had no suspicion till this day, that you were serving Rachel Haaze's child in the same way, only on a larger and more criminal scale. I crime to England intending, if the way was clear, to claim my inheritance, but never imagining that I must first ousst my own fither from possession." He paused. Mr. Blanche had no response. He spoke again. 15 ; - i page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] 38 "CrTHE JULIA." "You are my father. If ever a son could be absolved from filial duty, surely I am such an one. Yet for my mother's sake, for the sake of my mother's strange, pas- sionate, crazy love, would I regard and treat you at least with forbearance. I rejoice in the happy accident that has terminated your nefarious proceedings before they issued in public shame and family disgrace. Now, your course is plain. You are to tell the world that those per- jured sailors were mistaken, and that you have discovered that your son is not dead, but alive. A discovery on which the world will congratulate you, and you, of course, will evince every token of paternal delight." The cap- tain said it with a bitterly contemptuous and satirical emphasis. Then .checking himself, and speaking almost kindly, he immediately added. " Father, I shall do what you would never have done for me, provide for your coim- fortable support. Whatever is in my power, that you may freely ask of me." Mr. Blanche, having had time to think and obtain command of himself, now replied with some hauteur and an air of assumed incredulity. "You claim to be my son. How amn I to know that fact! Suppose I choose to deny it, how could you prove it in a court of justice ? "Oh, father, father! " exclaimed the captail, reproach- fully, "how your brain teems with plots and projects! But I will ansvwer your questions. 'IHow are you to know that I am your son?' You know it already. I saw by the expression of your face that you knew me. The mark which a, passionate temper, unchecked by parental care; impressed upon my forehead in infancy, has never been forgotten by any who have once seen it. You, of all, could not fail to recognize it. As to the THE HAUNTED HALL. 339 second point, I have several answers. I could prove my identity in a court of law by James Binder, harness- maker, of Hull, and in doing so, would expose your mean- ness in binding me out to a trade wheln my mother left' property enough for my education as a gentleman. I could also prove that you executed fraudulent papers of indenture, and could exhibit those papers to the court. I could prove my identity, again, by Betsey Cleaver, who would tell the court how my mother longed to see me on her death-bed, and you deceived her by pretending to send for me; and how she requested her watch to be given to me, which watch, if I am not mistaken, you are wearing now. I could also prove my identity by Alvira I Tressle, if she b'e yet alive, who would have ,another story to tell of your treatment of my mother. I could further exhibit letters and papers which would serve the double purpose of proving my identity and showing how" you drove my mother crazy. And if it were necessary entirely to blast your character, I could bring testimony to your neglect of Mary Blithely and her child. I could produce a witness who heard you propose a fraudulent operation to Egbert Iartsum; I could show a note, once in the possession of Leonore Forrester, the issuing of i which was forgery; and then I could recall the two il sailors, who would testify to the last and culminating act of folly and wickedness. Are you disposed now to put me to the proof??' "Suetonius," answered the father, in an humbled voice, i and with a shame-faced look " you are too severe. You misjudge. Iow could I doubt you dead? And you must acknowledge it would have been hard to see this property pass out of my hands just because I could not prove when you died." IPi page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] 340 "TaHE JULIA.", "Nothing can justify subornation.!" said the captain, severely. "Those men deceived me. They had their own motives." "We will talk no more about it," interruptec the cap- tain, apgrily. "Let it be forgotten. 'Nbw to business. You acknowledge me?, You - withdraw your claims to this estate?" "I do, most certainly, Suetonius, my son, and hope you will learn that I am not so unworthy of your regard as you, wyith your passionate nature, have wrought your- self up into believing." The captain, paying no attention to his father's last observation, rung the bell, and called for pen, ink and paper. The servant brought them, with a wondering stare at the stranger who uttered the imperious com- mand. : Give me the names and address of your solicitors and legal advisers," he said to his father. He wrote them down. Then he dictated ,while his father wrote a letter to these gentlemen, acknowledging Suetonius as his sort, and withdrawing all claims to the estate. "There. -Now for my horse," exclaimed the, cap- tain. "Surely you will remain all night,. Suetonius. You will not leave me as soon as found. Think you I have no anxiety to hear some account of your life and ad- ventures? No questions to -ask and explanations to make?" The captain made no other reply than to say that his time was short and business pressing. "Good-bye, father. Stay here as long as you please, THE HAUNTED HALL. 341 or go where you please. Only, in case you leave, send me your address, for I must see you once again before I leave England. From the bottom of my heart I wish you only happiness." "Good-bye, Suetonius." They shook hands and parted; 1i . . . page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] *XXXVII. \ THE captain had returned to Hull and had just fin- ished an account of his visit to Thornbrake Cottage and Clinchley Hall, with the double Surprise of finding Betsey in possession of the one and his father of the other. He said nothing of his visit to M acclesfield, nor anything of Richard Scrummnadge. "Of course,' remarked Egbert, "you will not return to America leaving your affairs so unsettled. Have you thought of securing a substitute as captain of the Julia?" "I have no intentions of deserting my colors; Bertie. Honor compels me, at whatever sacrifice, to carry the brig back and give her up into the hands of her owners who committed. her to my charge. But though I have not thought of a substitute, I have of a successor in com- mand?" "Whom?" ( Egbert Hartsum." Egbert's face., at this announcement lighted up with a gleam of pleasure. He looked proudly around the deck. What an honor and happiness would it be, to command his father's brig, the Julia; object of his love from early childhood! But the emotion was transitory. His face grew sober and sad.. (342) IN PERSPECTIVE. 343 "No," he said, " you must not ask it. I can accept of no such trust from Munnypen & Co. while they retain the slightest doubt of my integrity." "But they shall not," answered the captain, vehemently. "I have it in my power to clear away every doubt. Mr. Blanche himself has assured me that he found your hon- esty invulnerable." "Mr. Blanche! when could he have told you this? Have you met him here, in England?" "Bertie," and he spoke with evident pain, " you know my real name now-you know I met my father at Clinch- ley Hall--and you know the character of that father; and now I tell you I have seen the Mr. Blanche of your acquaintance, can you not draw your own conclusion?" "Yes," answered Egbert, not disguising his surprise and grief; though he tried to. The captain wiped his brow. "Once," he said, "I took a savage pleasure in proclaiming the badness of may own father. But you have taught me better' And now even to tell you, Bertie, such things as I must of my father is exquisitely painful. But let it pass. To resume the subject on which we were speaking. I shall relate to Munnypen & Co. the whole history of your acquaintance with Estelle.' She herself wishes that they should know all." "How do you know that? You've not seen her, too?" "I have not seen her, but have heard from her." "By letter?" asked Egbert, incredulously. "Yes," answered the captain, carelessly. "You correspond, then?" "Yes," was the brief answer. ,: Egbert had ehtertained suspicions which this laconic !" and business-like piece of information confirmed. The I page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] 344 "THE1 JULIA ." captain and Estelle corresponded. The captain mlorieover spoke of her. by, her first name alone. Of course they were engaged. ]Egbert was still conning over the mnat- ter, studying his own feelings on the subject without being able quite to make them out, when the captain ad- dressed him again. "I have not told you all,' he said. " My communica- tions with Munnypen & Co. on this subject will be for the sole purpose of clearing your character from imputa- tions, and not all in order to secure their appointment of you to the command of the Julia. I do not mean you to be beholden to them for this." He spoke the last words with asperity. He had never forgiven Munnypen & Co. for allowing themselves to suspect Egbert of wrong-doing. "Munnypen & Co. are half owners and have the entire disposition of the brig;" remarked Egbert, trying to puzzle out his friend's meaning. "Yes; and your family are half owners. I intend that you yourself"i"all lbe its sole owner."' The captain amused himself a moment with Egbert's wondering look: and then explained. "Bertie, I have been a sailor some thirteen years and for seven of those years either mate or captain. Every voyage I have taken' has been lucrative. My money, not dissipated as the sailor's wont is, but profit- ably invested, has been accumulating. 'My objedt in saving was to become some day the owner of Thornbrake Cottage. I am its owner and also the owner of Clinchley Hall with no inconsiderable rental. I need no longer my money for the purpos;e I have so ardently cherished. You understand that?" "Yes," answered Egbert. I '0 * ' , . i IN' PERSPErCTIVE. 345 4 ( Listen, then. I shall purchase Munnypen & Co.'s half of the Julia, buy out the interest of your mother and sisters in the other half, sell again to you on time, and thus leave you sole m'aster; in full and unrestricted com- mand, to charter your vessel to whom you choose, or sail it whence and whither you, please." Egbert was silent for a moment. Then he gave a long, low whistle. Then he laughed aloud; and finally walked to the side of the brig to hide some more tender emotion that threatened to overflow at the eyes. Directly he returned, and clasping the captain's neck with both arms, fairly hugged him, exclaiming as he did so, "Thank you, Sweeny! thank you, captain! thank you, dear, good friend! thank you again and again! ' Then lie began a minute survey of the vessel, pacing thel deck, looking down into the holds, glancing up to the yards, enjoying the new sensation of ownership, for so plain and feasible seemed the captain's plan that he already esteemed the Julia his. "Captain," he exclaimed, returning again to his fiiehd, before the first glow of exhilaration had passed off, "What, think you, shall be my first cargo? I shall ad- vertise for a lot of missionaries to carry to Calcutta. I will go to sea with a Bethel flag at the masthead and repeat, if possible, the pleasure of that first blessed voy- age to India!" In the mid ocean, on a star-lighted nigjht, with a gentle breeze and a steady sea, the Julia making ten knots an hour, the water rippling around her like the purring of a cat, as if the very sea loved her, Captain White and his mate Egbert Hartsum comllmuned together of things past, present and to come. Theirs was the sort of idle talk of 15* page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] 346 "'THE JULIA." happy hours, when little pointless stories are told and purposeless comments made, because the talkers have enough interest in each other not to be afraid to commit themselves to trifles, and not to be driven to make an effort at conversation in order to get up an hour's enter- tainment. At last they touched upon the subject of the Julia's transfer to the hands of Egbert. i' The worst of our prospective arrangements are," said Egbert, "that I must lose you. My enjoyment of a sea- life has grown much out of your society, Sweeny. Many a night must I sit alone on deck and muse with myself for lack of better company., "And I," broke in the captain, , buried at Thornbrake Cottage, or hermitized in Clinchley Hall--shall I not miss you, Bertie? and often long to be beside you on the Julia's hallowed deck? These ocean solitudes, these crested waves, those high stars-shall I not pine to see them? and all the duties of a seamann's life, have they not become as a second nature to me?" "When you are married,'"Egbert replied, "you will grow domestic and never again wish to be a sailor." "Married! Think you I with my crabbed, crooked, unruly temper woucld be justified in risking any woman's happiness by making her my wife? Ah! Bertie! she whom I marry ought to be too good-natured to be irri- tated by any vexations, too cheerful to languish in any circumstances--one without projects of her own, intent only on her husband's happiness, contentedly occupied with household employments, extracting pleasure from little things, and always looking on the brighter side of all events." "How very unlike Estelle that portrait," thought Egbert to himself, but as the captain had not given IN PERSPECTIVE. 8 347 him his confidence on that point, he did not utter his thoughts. "Once," continued the speaker, 'C I was captivated by genius, spirit and beauty. No one knows what misery such a woman might share with me." "Surely then," thought Egbert, " he cannot be engaged to Estelle." "But you, Bertie," he added, playfully--the captain' was certainly in the talking mood to-night--" one or two voyages over, will be leading some fair. damsel to the altar. Captain Hartsum and lady must sail away in the Julia, first of all, to England, and visit Thornbrake Cot- tage and Clinchley Hall." Egbert smiled, and made some laughing answer about the unattractiveness of a bachelor's establishment. "I used to think, Beltie," said the captain, inquiringly, a' that you had a boyish fancy for Carrie Foster'?" "A sweet girl, yet hardly one to fill a man's whole soul," said Egbert, not without sadness. "Nonsense, man; she is of all the women in the world the one for you to marry!"' "Sweeny, the thought of Carrie Foster gives me no little concern. A year ago, or more, just before she went away to school, some words were spoken between us that I wish had not been. She was such a child that what she said should not be regarded as seriously meant; but I was older and accountable for my words. Carrie may have forgotten thenm; I hope she has. But what if she, secluded in that school, treasures up those words in her heart and permits her imagination to dwell upon them? This troubles me. What if she be. painting fancy pictures of the future with me ever for the over- colored centre-piece? What, in a word, if she grow page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] up in love with me? then, Sweeny, what am I to do? "Realize her pictures, to be sure; accept her love and be happy." "I have seen more of the world," he replied, gloomily, "and fear my taste for a pretty and amiable chatter-box is spoiled!" 'Perhaps when you have seen still more of the world,' said the captain, " you will return eagerly to your first love. He that knows little of the world knows less of it than he who knows nothing. My paradox can only be solved by experience. But, Bertie, to treat this matter with the serioutsness it; deserves, let me give you my sentiments in full. Fil'st of all, and this perhapsis in part the effect of your misfortunes, your sensitive conscience is growing morbid. The fear that you may do a wrong is putting you in the way of doing it. If you constantly question your ability to love Carrie Foster, or any one else, you may be sure that you cannot. Leave the mat- ter alone. Let your heart and accident, or rather Provi- dence, I should say, solve the problem when the time comes. Then if you love her freely and truly, well and good; if not, you cannot help it and cannot mend it. Again, my dear fellow, this Carrie Foster is a woman, and may change her mind a dozen times before she is old enough to marry; perhaps may turn up her nose at you some of these days, which would not improve that diminu- tive feature of hers, by the by. If I did not know you so well, I might suspect you of an amazing degree of per- sonal vanity, to suppose that any girl will keep in love with you for a half-score of years; as it is, I can only say, the probabilities are against you, and there is no use of taking. trouble on interest. Again, you are supposing that she will be at eighteen what she was at fourteen, 'a IN PERSPECTIVE. 349 pretty, amiable chatter-box,' was it? Why, man, Carrie Foster has talent and character that will develope in all that is attractive and ennobling in woman. My word for it, that she at eighteen will be such a charming creature as you. would give your all to win! Finally, Bertie, let'me tell you a secret.' This sprightly little blonde love of yours was one day eclipsed by a splendid and magnificent brunette, and you have suffered yourself to compare the pretty girl with the superb woman. Estelle Saltore, all beauty, genius, fire and energy, has dazzled and bewildered you, and admiring her, you have come to think that you cannot love a lesser star of gentler radiance. Ah! Bertie, I see by your manner I have guessed aright. Do not fancy that-you are in love,' ever have been, or ever can be, with Estelle! Grand, noble transcendently good as she is, she never could make your heart and home happy. Her sphere is the greatworld, the world of life, pleasure and display. She never could dwindle down to the mild effulgence of a domestic star, never could make home happy. She never had a home, was not educated for one; and, Bertie, she loves not your Saviour and worships not in spirit your God. Believe me now or not, you will one' day acknowledge that you have been infatuated by, not in love with, dear Estelle Saltore. GIood night." And the captain hurried away, without waiting for an answer. Egbert sat long on the deck that night, looking, not up at the stars or down into the sea, but into the depths of. his own heart. When at last he, went to bed, it was with a juster knowledge of himself, and the last image before his mind ere he fell asleep was Carrie Foster's face, not wearing. the sad. expression his imagination usually gave to it, but smiling upon him sweetly and innocently. page: 350-351[View Page 350-351] XXXVIII, A LOVE of the stage becomes a passion as incorrigible as the appetites. It may be restrained, held in abey- ance for a time, but is ever ready to slip the bit and return to its old courses. "Every one," says La Fontaine, "has some peculiar failing, which neither shame nor feai can wholly cure." "Chacun a son defaut, ou toujours il revicnt: Honte ni peur n'y remedie.' So it was with Estelle Saltore. When the Julia arrived in New York, her two friends found "Stella" again blazing in the zenith of theatrical glory. She confessed that she had nearly died of ennui and could not resist the importunity which had coaxed and tempted her back again to the stage. But she asserted that it was only for a time. Her work was not quite done. She must acconmplish something for the good of the gay world, something for the permanent benefit of the drama; and then she would'retire to the humble obscurity of private life. So she argued, while Egbert sighed, and the captain smiled to see her so wedded to her art, so dependent for her happiness on t;he excitements of a theatrical life. (350) r THE JULIA BOUGHT. 351 Captain White promptly set on foot the proper mea- sures for accomplishing his two-fold purpose, of clearing Egbert's character in the eyes of his former employers and of transferring the Julia to his sole possession and control. The second morning after their arrival he beg- ged Mrs. Iartsum to be prepared for an interview with Munnypen & Co. at her own house and desired Egbert to be also present. At the appointed hour Munnypen & Co. arrived in a hired hack. Mr. White was not on hand, and for ten minutes the men of business gave themselves up to the admiration of Augustus Sylvanus, while Sandy Forkes and the delighted Fanny showed off the various points and infantile accomplishments of that remarkable child. The ten minutes expired, and a handsome carriage stopped at the door, from which alighted Captain White and a lady of elegant appearance, who smiled curiously on Sally, as that well-remembered maid of all work showed her with eager politeness into the parlor. "Miss Saltorc," said the captain, by way of a general introduction. Mrs. Hartsum welcomed her, aand at the same time of- fered her a chair with her usual quiet promptness, while the rest looked surprised at this unexpected addition to their number. Fanny glanced with dissatisfaction at her own dress and felt annoyed that she had not been duly prepared for so fashionable a visitor. She whispered something to her husband, who disappeared from the room and quickly returned, depositing privately in the hand of his wife a large brooch, which she managed to fasten on her collar behind the enormous head of Augus- tus Sylvanus, without, as she supposed, being detected in the skillful manceuvre. In the meanwhile the ordinary remarks upon the page: 352-353[View Page 352-353] "THE JULIA.." weather had been said and exhausted, and Captain White 'proceeded t;o bisiness. "More than a year since," he said, looking at Munny. pen & Co., "a note was issued, bearing the signature of your firm, and apparently filled up in the handwriting of your confidential clerk and acting cashier, Egbert Hart- sum. You suspected another person to be concerned in this matter, and believed that he had seduced our young- friend into this guilty transaction. I here present you with the affidavit of that man in which he assumes the entire responsibility, absolves Egbert from even a know- ledge of that note prior-to its issue, and relates all that ever passed between them. You will perceive that .he throws himself entirely on your generosity, and' by thus rendering himself liable for the crime of forgery proves at least the sincerity of his declarations." The captain handed the affidavit to Munnypen Sr. "Before that is read, there is another matter I must allude to. You, gentlemen, heard that Egbert had formed certain intirracies with theatrical characters. He con- fessed to an intimacy with one who was connected with the stage, and declined to enter into any explanations. That one was a great and distinguished actress, whose virtues equal her genius, the world-renowned 'Stella.' She, herself," pointing to Estelle, "will tell the rest bet- ter than I can." The involuntary start and expression of curious surprise of nearly all present, made Estelle smile. "It is a simple story," she said, " and there would have been no mystery about it but for a foolish pride on my part and a natural dislike to be the subject of gossiping remarks. You remember a girl,"--she addressed the question to Mrs. Hartsum-" named 'Stell,' and whoml THE JULIA BOUGHT. 353 you called the 'dance-girl,' living in a neighboring alley? And how kind your son 'Bertie' was to her when she had no other friend? and how she annoyed you by re- peating her forbidden visits to Bertie when he was sick up-stairs? and how she managed to see him once more and bid him farewell even after the Julia had swung from her moorings?" Mrs. Hartsum bowed assent to each inquiry. "Do you not recognize me now?" asked Estelle, with a smile. The truth broke upon Mrs. Ilartsum in an instant. "You are Stell herself!" she exclaimed: then as the great and mortifying difference between that "Stell" and this "Stella" occurred to her, she tried to take back the words and mend them, "at least someway rela- ted--". "Nay, nay," interrupted the actress, "you have said it. I was Stell;' a poor neglected child, who fell by accident into the charge of a drunken couple who called me their daughter .and lived on my earnings as a' ballet-dancer. In those days none but your son, 'Bertie,' as you called him, was kind to me. He could be kind and generous with a delicate appreciation of the feelings of even a poor, rude, abused child. He won my affection. He awakened in me a desire to be good. He stimulated me to exertion' and inspired me with hope. He saved me from a life of ignorance and degradation. And when afterwards, still friendless, without father or mother, brother or sister, alone in the 'world, although I had attained to a position of celebrity and affluence, I met this benefactor of my childhood, whom I 'had supposed to be dead, was it strange that I should claim him for a friend or brother? or that he with his noble and chivalric nature should ac- page: 354-355[View Page 354-355] 355 cept the trust, 'and become' my counsellor and guide and protector? , "I shall not attempt," she continued, after a moment's pause, "1 to defend my profession. In-the cruel judgment of those who profess Christian charity, it is condemned without reservation. And one who accepts of our friend. ship must forfeit the esteem of those who arrogate to themselves the name of (Christian. Even Egbert Hart. sum loses the confidence of his over-righteous employers,) she directed her eye burning with angry indignation at Munnypen & Co., " which long and faithful services and a most transparent ingenuousness of character should have placed beyond suspicion, because, forsooth, he dares to be the friend of an actress "-But let it pass. Prejudice is indomitable. I did not mean to attack it, but simply to assure you of these facts: that when Mr. Hartsum first met me by accident in this city, he was not aware that I was an actress; the first time he entered the theatre he was taken there by strata- gem, not knowing where he was going; and, if he per- severed afterward in escorting me there, it was because as an honorable man, as a true Christian and as faitJ4ihl friend, he could not refuse to act a brother's part to one who cast herself on him, as a sister might, for counsel and for protection.", "You will do us the justice, madam, to believe," said Mr. Munnypen, Sr., bowing to Estelle, "that had we known these circumstances, our young friend Egbert could never have suffered our displasure,ou di pleasure,I say,--nor our distrust, I say. Allo me tointi- mate that the fault was that of two young heads,-the fault, I say,-in .making a secret of what should have been freely, I say, openly acknowledged. And you, Eg- I ' berth my boy, should never have kept these facts from the knowledge of your mother, I say, of Mrs. Hartsum. A young man who does not make his mother his confidant, who does not, I say, unreservedly confide all that he does to his mother, is to be suspected-doubted, I say, is, I say, in peril. And now, dear boy, none can rejoice more than I in this proof, this evidence, I say, of what I always hoped, believed, I say, that you were as true and honest as Captain John Hartsum's son should be!" Mr. Munnypen, Sr., as he said this, had risen and grasped Egbert's hand, and was followed in turn by Munnypen Jr., and Mr. Juvenal, each of whom shook it with a hearty good will. Munnypen Sr., at the suggestion of Captain White, then gave his attention to -the affidavit of Mr. Blanche, and having read it, passed it to the two junior members of the firm, who examined it together. After which there was a short conference between the three, when Mi'. M:unnypen Sr. became again the spokesman. "Captain White," he began, " knowing as Wve do from your own lips, the relation existing between you and this party, which has rendered your conduct in this matter a palinful act on your part, for your sake we decline prose- cuting it farther, and restore to you this singular docu- ment, and herewith also the note which has caused,-has, I say, originated, all this trouble." Captain White, flushed with contending -feelings of pain and pleasure, received the proffered papers with an. expression of gratitude, and tore them ipto a thousand fragments. "Captain White," said Mr. Munnypen Sr., again, "you have informed us of y'our purpose in reference to the Julia. Allow us to participate in the pleasure of your page: 356-357[View Page 356-357] 356 "THiE JULIA.'" act, by selling, our half of the brig directly to Mr. Hart. sum on the same terms that you have proposed. Such is the pleasure of the firm-of the company, I say," he bowed to Munnypen Jr., who bowed back'again, and t Mr. Juvenal who also bowed back. "Mr. Juvenal please write the bill of sale."' It was written, and signed, and attested by Estello Saltore and Sandy Forkes. Then another bill of sale already written was signed by Itannah Hartsum, for her. self and as guardian of Cleopatra Hartsum, and by Alex. ander and Fanny Forkes, and attested' by Estelle Saltore and Munnypen & Co. And still a third bill of sale ws executed by Suetonius Haaze White, and attested by Estelle Saltore and Alexander Forkes. And the Julia was thus declared and exhibited to be the property sole and' entire of Egbert Hartsum! Munnypen & Co. with' many congratulations and courteous leave takings, took their departure; and Cap-. tain White stood ready to hand Estelle into her carriage. But Estelle lingered. .She had dispatched Egbert to the carriage upon some secret commission. He returned, bearing a large package, it might be a book or it might be a picture, judging from shape and size. "Mrs. Hartsum," said Estelle, with that ineffable grace which made everything she did so irresistibly pleasing, I once made a purchase of you of a hat, a shawl and a dress. I was to pay you for them when able, but, my dear madam, I found that their value to nme exceeded all price. A fortune could not do for you the good they did to me. Besides better thoughts and feelings cane and made me willing to accept gratefully what once I would have dis'dainfully rejected. I thank you now for your charity to poor 'Stell,' and I leave this with you," THE JULI.& BOUGHT. 357 --pointing to the package--" as a memento, an acceptable one I am sure it will be, of my gratitude." Estelle extended her hand to bid good-bye, but Mrs. Hartsum had gained a glimpse of what was under the paper wrappings which Captain White was industriously removing; her mother's heart overcame hel natural diffidence, and accepting the extended hand, she drew Estelle to her and kissed her affectionately. ' One that appreciates my boy so well," she said, softly, "must accept his mother's love too,!" Estelle left the house. Sally, who had entered the room as soon as she had left it, stood watching the de- parture of the carriage from. the window. "La, sakes!" she exclaimed, "so, that's Stell! Once she wasn't up to me, and now sle's riding, and I's the same fool still!" But Sally's attention was diverted by exclamations of surprise and pleasure behind her, and turning to see what it was about, she beheld the portrait of Egbert displayed upon the sofa, in a gilt fiame of astonishing splendor. "Did you ever!" exclaimed Sally. "She painted it herself," said"Egbert, addressing his mother, "Stell. did that!" said Sally. "Well, I spect's I shall come to sumthin yet. Gracious me, tho! only think, that that grand lady I was curtsying to, and Miss Fanny there was curvetting to, Wasn't nobody but jist Stell'! Well, I never!" and Sally, bursting into a loud, hoarse laugh, carried herself and her elegant commxents out of the room.. Sally never learned to view Estelle Saltore as anything else than 1"Stell." She could not understand that she could cease to be "Stell," or had a right to any other position in the world than that which was first thrust upon her by the world, as "Stell, the dance-girl." page: 358-359[View Page 358-359] 358 THE JULIA.'"' A few evenings after the day of the Julia's transfer, Munnypen & Co., and Mrs. Hannah Hartsum and family, including Sally, astonished the serious world by visiting the theatre, to witness the performance of the great actress/ while Sally liked to have astonished the audience with the exclamations ever rising to her lips and repressed by authority, conveying her astonishment that "Stella was nobody after all but only Stell." Estelle appreciated the compliment thus paid her, and freely accepted and reciprocated the kind attentions and hospitalities which. these new friends extended to her. Egbert, however, never ventured another visit to the theatre. Estelle knew and respected his motives in ab- senting himself. She even aided and encouraged him to break aw-ay from the charmed circle in which she moved. "But, dear Egchert," she would say, 'by the time you return from your first voyage I shall have left the stage forever. Then we will play old times come back!" Captain White's deportment towards Estelle was an enigma to Egbert. He again inclined to the opinion that they must be engaged. The exceeding gentleness of his manners towards her, his familiarity so much,greater than Egbert himself would have ventured upon, the fie- quency of his visits, and the confidential manner in which Estelle treated him could be explained on no other hy- pothesis. Captain White puzzled Egbert in another way, by his anxiety to see Cle'. He had not 'been in New York three days before he proposed paying her a visit. Egbert offered to accompany him, but the captain civilly declined the honor of his society and promised to bring Cle' home to spend a week, And so Cle' came home, looking very THE JULIA BOUGHT. 359 rosy, and even Egbert thought (brothers are not apt to see the beauty of their sisters) very pretty. She was very lanppy any way, and the whole family missed her when the captain escorted her back to her school. But all thoughts now were occupied with the projected voyage to India. page: 360-361[View Page 360-361] XXXIX. 1IE Julia, Captain Egbert Hartsum, owner and coin. mander, sailed from New York for Calcutta, with a new pennant streaming from the mast-head, and a com- pany of missionaries domiciled in her cabin. The cap- tain was so happy, first in the possession of the brig, and secondly, in the character of his passengers, that he was hardly sorry at leaving home and parting with Sweeny. The latter apparently was the more afflicted of the two, when the final moment came, and the Julia, for the first time in so many years, sailed away without him. The Julia's first voyage under her new captain was sat- isfactory. The missionaries were all that he could, desire; not, indeed, on a par with Mr. Strong and Dr. and Mrs. De Seiple, not much above the average of Mr. and Mrs. Small and and Mrand Mrs. James; but good, plain, earnest, simple-hearted Christians, who looked up to their youthful captain with a feeling akin to reverence, and faithfully followed all his suggestions. Morning and even- ing, in fair weather, all hands were summoned to prayers. There was a daily Bible class, and a daily recitation in ecclesiastical history in the cabin; and two daily classes for the religious instruction of the crew on deck. Hymns were sung on deck for an hour eve'ry pleasant even- (360) THE END OF TIE CRUISE. 36" ing, in which the sailors were encouraged to join; and often, from mast or rigging, the voice of Jack Tar might be heard shouting out the refirain of some favorite cho- ral, while the voices of his mates on deck were subdued by the nearer presence of the missionaries. There were happy Sabbaths on the silent ocean, when every hour as far as possible was given to the worship or the Word of God. Thus pleasantly and swiftly passed the days and months; there were days of calm, and days of rain and heavy winds; there Was a flurry and threatening of' telmpest in doubling the Cape; but without an actual storm or one alarming accident, the Julia reached her haven and lay moored at last in the crowded Hoogly. Before her cargo was dischargel, she was chartered. for another voyage. She left Calcutta for Canton. Thence she sailed for Australia. Again returned to China. And after various short voyages from port to port again entered the Sea of Bengal and dropped anchor once more at the city of Calcutta. Here, while the Julia was put in readiness for the long voyage home- ward, Egbert was permitted, as Captain White had done before him, to visit the missionaries in the interior. le found but a remnant surviving of the company which some eightl years previously sailed in the Julia for that fatal clime. Walter Strong had first been summoned to a heavenly home. Mr. and Mrs. Small had returned to Amer- ica broken in health and disabled for active employment. Mrs. James, after lingering five years, and accomplishing a good work among Hindoo women, which many women of stronger mind and body could not have done, was called to her rest. Mr. James still toiled feebly at his herculean task. Dr. De Seiple was sallow and thin, out of health, and depressed in spirits, yet manfully discharg- page: 362-363[View Page 362-363] 362 "TH E JULIA." ing his high commission with faith' far exceeding llis a)- parent success; and most reluctantly did he yield to the advice and entreaties of his friends, and accept the prof- fer of a passage in the Julia to his native country. Mrs. De Seiple was neither out of health nor out of spirits. She had grown stouter and less comely, but had lost none of her attractive qualities. If Egbert. had loved her when a boy, he felt that he had never filly appreciated her till now. She innoculated him with her own hopes and fears 'for the mission. She showed what had been done with a clear common-sense estimation of its real value, and ilsisted upon lhat could be done with a cleai- ness of app:rehlension and eloquence of description that foibade doubt or denial. In the few days that he spent on the plemiscs he obtained a view of the real work, the actual success and possible accomplishment of the mlis- sionary to the Hindoos that volumes of books could not have afforded him. He allllost longed to let the Julia find her, way to America, under some other coinmand, and devote hi-mself to a work so full of promise, and yet so feebly prosecuted for the want of men and means. But Providence directed otherwise. He was not to choose what he would do for the King. It had been or- dained for him. With affectionate interest he bade fare. well to' mission-chapel and school-house, workshop and bungalows, and: returned to Calcutta with Dr. and Mrs. De Seiple, to retrace with those friends the ocean high- way to the happy shores of America. More than three years had passed; and again he en- tered the harbor which to him was more beautiful than any in the world. The last hand he had shaken when last he left it was Suetonius Whites ; and now; returning, the first to bid him welcome was Suetonius Haaze THE END OF THE CRUISE, 363 'Blanche, Esq., master of Clinchley Hall, and owner of Thornbrake Cottage. "So, dear friend, you crossed the ocean on purpose to meet me," said Egbert, as the two sat together, after their old fashion, before the bright anthracite fire in the. famniliar basenent room, when the rest of the family had retired. ',Alhuost on purpose. At least I timed my visit with strict reference to your return," answered Mr. Blanche, stirring the fire which needed' no stirring. Egbert looked at him gratefully; but receiving no de- rmLonstration of friendship in return, followed the example of his friend, and fell into a musing fit. "And Mr. Foster is dead!" ejaculated Egbert, after a few moments of silence. "Dead!" echoed Mr. Blanche, mechanically. "-And Carrie of course is at school yet?" asked Eg- bert. "At school?" repeated Mr. Blanche, rousing himself. "A young lady of eighteen at school, in these fast days? Oh, no!" "A teacher, then, perhaps, if not herself a scholar?" suggested Egbert. "That was her purpose.'" "'She is not at school at all, neither as teacher or scholar." "Where is she then?"' " In England." 'Egbert looked astonished. Mr. Blafiche explained. "Have you forgotten that there was a certain lady, a friend of Carrie's mother, who bore the charges of Car- rie's educatioh?" "I had quite forgotten it. - Never heard the fact even alluded to but once. Who is the lady?" u d to but once. page: 364-365[View Page 364-365] 864 "THEi JULIA." "An Eng'lisl woman; and she has taken Carrie with her to England," answered Mr. Blanche in a matter of fact way Then changing his tone, he added, "Bythe by, Egbert, I have a favor to ask of you?" "What is it?" asked Egbert eagerly. "That your next voyage shall be to Englandcl and that you convey a couple of passengelrs thither. "Most willingly; especially if you yourself are to be one of the passengers."' "I am." "And the other?" "My wife."' Egbert looked at him to see if he were serious; and asked carelessly, as one that did not mean to be hoaxed, "and who pray may she be?, "A certain sister of yours, at present called Miss Cleo. patra Hartsum, or short Cle'.",is "Surely you are jesting!, exclaimed Egbert, when he could speak for astonishiment. "Not at all." "You always held her in contempt and caled her a simpleton for' liking everybody and being pleased with everything," expostulated Egbert, still incredulous. "I have found out that I was the simpleton myselffor saying so. I do not think I ever really thought so.," This accounts, then, for your anxiety to see Cle', running up to her school whenever you could, bringing her home and taking her back, and not letting-me do a mother's duty." "It accounts for it in part," Mr. Blanche replied. "I confess, however, to other motives., "What were they?, "You will know in time. But, please sir, do you not THE END OF THE CRUISE. 365 mean to congratulate me, or express any pleasure or sat- isfaction at this intelligence?" "Dear Sweeny," said Egbert, recurring to the old nick-name which he always used when he -wouild be very emphatic, " you know how delirghted I shall be whlen I fully take it in. But it is so new, so surprising! I do not quite believe it. It does not seem real." "Well, go to bed and dream over it," 'said Mr. IBlanche, laughingly, at the same time taking his own can- dle, and bidding good night. HHe went opt and shut the door, then returned, again for a moment :to teil Egbert how glad Cle' and he' were-that Dr. De Seiple had hap- pened in New York just at that time. Now that Mr. Foster was dead, they would rather have him .marry themn than any other clergyman, And would Bertie see him and make the necessary arrangements? page: 366-367[View Page 366-367] I ON a bright and pleasant morning in the spring of the year, the cars stopped at Willoughby station. The three passengers who alighted and Were the subject of much curiosity to the by-standers, who had been attrlacted by the unusual event of a carriage, awaiting an arrival at that quiet station, were Mr. and Mrs. Suetonius Haaze Blanche and Captain Egbert Hartsum. The drive fron Willoughby to Thornbrake Cottage, pleasant under any circumstances, was enlivened with the comments of Mr. Blanche, who, familiar with every object, recognizing an old friend in every, house and almost every tree, delighted to make them known to his friends. H-e knew all the legends and traditions in the country for miles round, and was ready to repeat tlhem whenever he could find willing listeners. Egbert recognized tlIe locality of many a story of wonders or of horrors that had beguiled the hours on ship-board. "Yonder is the gate into the grounds of Thornbrake Cottage, they are not extensive enough to be called a park, though you Americans might mistake it for one," said Mr. Blanche. "I have built a porter's lodge by it, a hardly needful piece of ostentation my neighbors, per- haps, think. Butl did not know -what else to do with DISCOVERIES. 3G7 Betsey Cleaver and her loon of a husband. I could not turn them out of house and home. I owed Betsey something, too, for her devotion to my mother. Yet as she never loved me, and is past her fitness for service, I could not retain her as a servant. So I built this box for them. We must stop a minute to introduce you to Betsey. Hold up driver!" A woman, past middle age, with a thin, sharp counte- nance, and small, bright eye, and an immaculately white cap, stood curtsying. at the open gate, and now advanced to the side of the carriage, while her husband stood sheepishly behind her. "How do you do, Betsey?" said Mr. Blanche. "This is Mrs. Blanche. This her brother, Captain Hartsum." Betsey curtsied again and meant to be very respectful, but in the embarrassment of this special mark of atten- tion, the old habit of familiarity came back.. "Bless me! dear, I am glad to see you and the mistress, for the old house with the lady a-dying of inches-" "Betsey!" exclaimed Mr. Blanche, severely. Betsey subsided into a curtsy. How do you do, William Cleaver? Drive on, Johnl' Away they went through the carriage way. No sign of neglect now. The trees, not yet in full leaf, only par- tially concealed Thornbrake Cottage from sight; and now anid then a wide vista gavea. complete view of the build- ing. At last the carriage stopped at the principal en- trance and amidst a group of servants the party alighted and entered the cottage. Thorabrake Cottage was not, as its name might imply, a small rural tenement. Though built in cottage style and humbly called a cottage, it might llave assamned the more pretentious name of a villa. It was large and many- page: 368-369[View Page 368-369] 368 "THE JULIA." roomed; and the parlor, into which the travelers were ushered, was spacious and almost imposing by its size. In the centre of that parlor stood Estelle Saltore, queenly and radiant, and beside her a young and slender gil, tall and graceful, aild dressed in deep black, who was intro- duced formally by Estelle as "Miss Blanche." The bride received the welcome of Estelle Saltore with timid diffidence, but, to Egbert's surprise, embraced Miss Blanche as if she were a dear and intimate friend. His own salutations were exactly. the reverse. Miss Blanche he bowed to as a stranger; and Estelle, after a moment's hesitation, caused by the surprise of finding her there, he greeted with all his old cordiality. "Only that bow forme, Egbert?" asked Miss Blanche, stepping forward. He was confused. A pair of very blue eyes were laughing at him from under a profusion of light ringlets. "Carrie Foster!" he exclaimed, doubtfully, and looked alternately from her to Estelle, as if he would ask by what chance of 1ll chances those two had ever got together. He was struck even then with the contrast between the two. How each set off the other! How beautiful either apart! How much more beautiful both were when standing thus side by side! Estelle, the bru- nette, regal in look and manner, full of genius, fire and energy! Carrie, the blonde, beaming with love, gentle- ness and vivacity! And there too stood Ole', conpleting the group; with her round, full, honest, intelligent, mirth- ful face, so different from theirs, and yet so acceptable in itself, and so lleasantly contrasting with their higher styles of beauty. , 'While these thoughts rapidly passed through his mind, Carrie had put her hand in his in token that she was DISCOVERIES. 36.) Carrie and no one else., He hardly threw all the pleasure he meant to express into his -recognition; he was so be- wildered with the change of name and the unexplained mystery of her presence here. Mr. Bla3nche relieved him by proposing to show him the library while the ladies should devote their attentions to Gle's immediate wants. "Confess yourself surprised out of your wits," said Mr. Blanche, when he and Egbert were alone in the library. "I am. What does it mean;? "It means that you have just been introduced to my sister, indeed I may say to my two sisters. Do you re- member that I hinted at another reason for visiting Cle' at school, besides the great pleasure of seeing her? It was to see her schoolmate and 'my sister Carrie, the daulglter of my father by a second marriage with one Mary Blithely, daughter of John Blithely, manufacturer, of Macclesfield. He married her, of course, after, I ran away from England."' "Will you believe," said Egbert, surprised at himself for never suspecting the truth before, as we are apt to be after the discovery of a fact that we never would have surmised unless it had been told us, "that when I first heard the name 'Blanche,' it occurred to me that that was Carrie Foster's family name, which she had once told me? But I was not sure; and strange to say, [ have never thought of 'it again, not even since I knew it Was your name too. But this is pleasant, that Carrie should be your sister. How long have you' known it?" "I first heard it on the voyage in the Julia from Havana to New York." Egbert pondered this piece of information for a few 16* page: 370-371[View Page 370-371] 330 '"T IIE JULIA." minutes as a new riddle to be solved; but he could not unravel the knot. "Of course, then;" he said, "Estelle must have given . you this information. But how could she have known it? And what is her connection with Carrie Foster, or Carrie Blanche? I never suspected her even of knowino that there was such a person." "I will tell you. The thin seamstress who was so kind to 'Stell.,' and who adopted her as a child after' the death of her reputed mother, was my father's second wife, and the mother of Carrie Blanche."? "I see," said Egbert, with his eyes wide open, as he drank in the information, "and so Estelle and Carrie became sisters, and this is what you meant when you said you might call them both yoiur sisters." "Partly," said Mr. Blanche; "but Estelle deserves to be loved by me as, a brother for the sisterly part she has acted both towards me and Carrie. Let me explain briefly: When the seamstress died, Mr. Foster adopted Carrie, and Estelle caime to E11ngland with Mrs. Forrester. Estelle did not forget her little sister in America, and with her usual energy set herself to work to find out 0 if Carrie had any relations in this 'country who would care for the orphan child. The seamstress, in Tipsy Alley had told her who1e story to Estelle, and guided by this, she soon ascertained that Carrie had no relation on the mother's side, no friend even, but one Richard Scrum- madge. Then she turned to the father's side, learned imy father's whole history, and soon identified a Mr. Blanche who affected the society of actors and actresses, as Carrie's father. About this time a transaction occurred which you have. heard of. A note, purporting to be drawn by Munnypen & Co. and endorsed by Mr. Blanche t . DISCOV rERIES. 3 l: came into the possession of Leonore. Forrester, through her agent in America, where at the time she was making investments, and Estelle, out of regard to Carrie, per- suaded her kind friend to suppress it. She could not bear that Carrie's father, all unworthy of her as he was, should be publicly-disgraced." Mr. Blanche paused till the feeling which any allusion to his father produced was overcome, and then continued: "The darling wish of Estelle's heart was to have Carrie all to herself. Mrs. Forrester's death put it in her power to gratify this wish, she thought, and she hastened to the United States to accomplish it. But she was dis- appointed. Not only did Mr. Foster refuse to give up Carrie; but she found that he had ascertained by papers and miniatures left by Carrie's mother, that Mr. Blanche was her father, and had secured that gentleman's consent to adopt Carrie as his own child. She also learned that a small income due to Carrie., lhich she had supposed was regularly transmitted to 1Mr. Foster, had never been e:ven heard of by him. But she cared not forthat, for her own means were anple, and all she could do for Carrie now was to lavish her money for her." "'Then Estelle was Carrie's unknown friend and patroness?" interrupted Egbert. "Yes, but I never could do justice to her generosity, or to all the delicacy of feeling she exhibited." "How did she find out who you were?" "You told her!" "Yes. Your account of Sweeny White enabled her to identify' the Julia's boy with the son of Suetonius Blanche. Therefore she received me as a brother, -as Carrie's brother," page: 372-373[View Page 372-373] 372 "THE JULIA. " d Why did she not let you know this at once, and wh did she not tell me too?" "Paltly because she was a little jealous of evel a brother's coming between Carrie and hlself; but still more from the excessive refinement of her sentiments She did not kllow how fra it would e agreenale to a s to have another acquainted 'with the llistory of suCll a father. She preferred, therefore waiting till accident O^^^ necessity should discover the truth., And how ldid She happen to tell you at all then inquired Egbert. Patly, I uspect, said Mr. Blanche, smilin to explain her own depolrtment and put me in, my rilgt position towards herself, as a friend and brother. But there was another and more important reason. She lid heard while in Cub, through her correspondeit in Eng- land, of the death of lmy great uncle, Herrick Haaze, and of the will which conveyed. to me Clinchley Hall and its estates. Therefore, you see I owe her much. "Why have you kept me in total ignorance of all this?" asked Egbert, when the captain concluded. "First of all--because Mr., Foster, while he lived, was averse, to have the relation of his adopted daughter to' an actress known. Secondly, from a desire to enjoy your surprise!" "And Cle' knew it all?", "Certainly. She must know who her relatives were to be." "I understand, then, at last, what has caused me so much dimfiulty to explain ;--your singular influence over Estelle, and your love to each other that did not seein to 'be love.,"td not see, to r. Blanche siled "You are a poor reader of * , i- DISCOVERIES. 373 hearts, Bertie, or you would have known long ago that mine was Cle's, and Cle's was mine!" "But I do not yet comprehend, Sweeny, how you escaped falling in love with Estelle.") A pretty couple we would have made, she with her satirical spirit and I with my hot temper!" and Mr. Blanche laughed. "Yet I will confess' the truth, Bertie. I did once fancy that I was in love with Estelle. But she would not fancy that she loved me except as a sister and then I found that I only loved her as a brother. When I returned to New York, after the voyage to Cuba, our old home there seemed very uncomfortable. I missed something and was not long in discovering that the chief pleasure I had enjoyed there in years gone by flowed from Cle's good humor and perpetual sunshine. When I went to the boarding school, ostensibly to see Cle' but in reality to see Carrie Foster, I found that Cle' did not suffer by comparison with other girls of. her age. And by degrees I came to the knowledge of the fact that while abusing and ridiculing Cle' I had been' all the while in love with her, depending upon her for happiness when at home, and thinking more of her than of any one else when away from home. She would have served me right if she had rejected me with scorn. But some how Cle' managed to love one whom so few love; and so, Bertie, you have me for a brother. Come, I hear the ladies in the pailor. Let us join them." The next day the whole party left Thornbrake Cottage for a visit to Clinchley Hall, where the new mistress was welcomed in true Lancashire style. During Egbert's stay here an excursion was made to Macclesfield where Mr. Richard Scrummadge entertained them in his pecu- page: 374-375[View Page 374-375] -1 11 . 1c ULIA.'7 liar wheezing stvle with the praises of John Blithely, manufacturer and writlh a sight of'the old books. M1i. Blanche ascertained that the old factory could be be purchased at a low valuation, and, either captivated With Mr. ScrluLimm adges eulogies on the business tlat hald t been done there, or in love with the old edifice itself; th leclared his intention of becoming its pulchaser. Ile lid more. Before Egbert left Clinchley Hall his friend lad forlled a partnership for the manufacture of cotton nid woollen goods with a young man practically expe i- nced in the business and was repairing the old mill and ocking it with machinery. The fact was tlhat Il M,. :lanche had imbibed an American spirit of go-aheadative. b ss and had too lonT led an active life to settle downi to a mere country gentleman. Therefore it hap)ned' at Mr. Scrunmadge lived to see thee old Blithlely wo1ks g vivedl and himself honored with a desk in thVl offoce and Oominal care of the business, while the Lancasl irel gen- r with some .consternation ascertained that Herrick' Laze's nephew and the master of Clinchley Hall had some a Macclesfield tradesman. Egbert's visit to his friends was prolonged to the f1r- : . st possible allowance oftime. The week he originally ,ised them grew into four weeks. The time was im- ved in visiting every place of interiest within a reason- distance of Clinchley Hall and Thornbrake Cottao'e. I wherever they went Egbert and Caslie, eithe ly gn or accident, were always companions th Surely they were made for each other,) said Mr. th tche to Estelle, one day at Thornbrake, leferring to w ert and Carrie who seemed at that moment deeply hi ossed with each other ,telle glanced at them for a moment and turned away. e E DI SC VERIE. 375 ' Both so good and piously inclined," he continued, nd she not too much his superior to fail to depend on n and follow his guidance, and too much a stranger to e world to weary of the quiet happiness and little du- s of hole." He spoke emphatically, as if, he meant to be heard and derstood. But Estelle uttered not a word in reply i ' Do you not agree with me?" he asked, at last, put- g the question too directly to be parried. Estelle was not disposed to parry it. "I do, decidedly," said. The Words were spoken promptly and distinctly, t not cheerfully. . 'They were fond of each other as children," remarked Blanche, involuntarily speaking in a gentle and apolo- ;ical tone. 'I know it," replied Estelle, quickly. "Carrie's prat- told me that within our first half hour's talk the day spent together in America." 'And should their childishl fancy mature into a fancy a lifetime, you would approve of it?" asked the perti- aious Mr. Blanche. . 'Most cordially." Mr. Blanche looked relieved. 'I shall settle them at Thornbrake Cottage," he said, after a few minutes silence. "Clinchley Hall suits better taste and love of power. Carrie's little income and profits of the mill, if there are any, (fbr to tell you truth, I have undertaken this business to recover if isible the losses of John Blithely's daughter,) together th what Bertie has and maymake, will soon release I hope from the toils and dangers of a seaman's life." 'Carrie is my child rather than sister," responded telle. "What I have is hers. There need be no more page: 376-377[View Page 376-377] 376 ." T TE JULIA." voyages .And Estelle terminated the conversation by leaving the room. The next day Estelle Saltore announced to her friends her acceptance of new engagements at the theatres. "I am tired of this humdrum life," she said. "The stage is my sphere. I shall do what I can to regenerate it. That shall be my object in life. And now that you are returned, Suetonius, to take charge of Carrie, there is no longer a necessity of suspending my professional duties. You" she added, laughingly, but with a flavor of bitterness for all, "will take good care that she does not come within that infectious influence of the theatri. cal world you all so much dread!" Mr. Blanche smiled at this announcement as if he had expected it. Egbert received it sorrowfully. Mrs. Blanche was astonished that any one should not like their way of life: she could imagine nothing pleasanter. And Carrie Blanche kissed Estelle and thanked her that for her sake she/ had so long lived the life of a recluse and shunned the gay world in which she delighted. "I shall often come to see you," said Estelle. ' A taste of domesticity once and awhile will be an appetizer for my great world!" XLI. THE Julia returned to America. Again she traversed the oceans to India. Thence she sailed for England, where her captain renewed his visits to Thornbrake Cot- tage and Clinchley Hall; and then once more entered the harbor of New York. It was a hot, breathless day in July. Things inanimate seemed to feel the depressing influences of the atmos- phere. The Julia rode the water languidly; the steam- tug panted with the exertion of dragging her along; the men on board of her expressed none of the customary pleasure of a return to port. Her captain was as dull and spiritless as her men; he had hardly energy enough to spur them on to their duty when it was necessary to make the brig tight and snug 'at her pier. No one from home came to welcome him-they had missed the tidings of the Julia's arrival.. Captain Hart- sum did not hurry home to give, them a surprise, as he would have done at another time, but lingered on the brig long after it was absolutely necessary, and seemed reluctant to put his foot on land. Slowly he walked through the heated streets. It was a long walk, yet he met no one he knew till he passed Tatnal's store; there, glancing in, he saw Sandy Forkes. He paused irresolute (377) i . page: 378-379[View Page 378-379] 178 "THE JULIA." whether to enter and salute him or not. Sandy did not see him and he passed on. He was in a strange mood, and could not explain to himself this unnatural aversionl to meet those whom he truly loved. At last he nap- proached the house, and instead of quickening his pace he actually slackened it. He could not help wishing that he was no. so near home, and could not tell why he wished so. He ascended the steps. The hot sun was beating directly on the front of the house, and every window-shutter, save in the basement, where the inside , shades were down, were shut against it. He pulled the bell handle. The bell rung so loud and so long he wislied he could stop it., He thought it never would cease its vibrations, and yet when the sound died away and he heard footsteps approaching, he was sorry. His heart was so heavy he did not think he could even affect the happiness he ought to feel. Sally opened the door and returned no word to the feeble smile with which he greeted her. She looked at him an instant and ran away, leaving the door open. He followed her, calling after her, through the hall, down the stairs to the basement entry, where she threw herself on a chair and began to sob and cry. He did not stop to speak to her again, for he saw Fanny in the front base- ment room. Fanny saw him, but did not rise to meet hin, only'looked at him and helplessly sat still. There was another young womlan in the room, and she and Fanny were, or had been the moment before, sewing. Egbert Hartsum ordinarily could not have told what kind of material a woman had been sewing, even if he had been sitting beside her for an hour; he was not an observant of such things. Yet now he saw as if there was nothing else to see or think of, that this woman and I ' ' THE LAST VOYAGE. 3B9 Fanny were sewing, on black bombazine; they were making up mourning. For whom? He could not ask words. He only exclaimed, "Oh! Fanny!" The tone, the look besought instant information-craved. to know the worst. Fanny comprehended it, and tremu- lously answered, "Mother!" And fell into such an agony of weeping and crying that Egbert had to forget the shock of these tidings in his efforts to quiet and comfort her. Robert Hartsum had had his trials: The death of his father, the loss of the confidence of his employers, the suspicion of his good character by the world, the blight- ingo of the brilliant prospects of wealth and position which be once entertained in expectation of becoming a lmelm- ben of the firm of Munnypen & Co. All tlese he had 'boirne patiently; they had brought forth in his soul the pea ceable fruit of righteousness. And this last sorrow was not without its soothing reflections and beneficial influences. Yet never in any trouble did le find it so difficult to repress a 1murmuring spirit. It seemed so hard that he should have been so' near home, only three days' distance from that sick chamber, and yet could not be permitted to see his mother once again, and hear and utter the last words of love to each other and faith in God. By the event of his mother's death, the last tie that 'bound him strongly to America, save the love of his natlve country, was severed. Te had never felt comfort- able in New York since his religious character had suffer- ed reproach, and he well knew that the minds of many, ed .eralrly page: 380-381[View Page 380-381] 380 "THE JULIA." who never would hear, or ifthey heard, could appreciate the truth, were still tainted with doubt and prejudice. England contained his early and now affianced love, his favorite sister, the friend and brother of his boyhood and hisonce protegee but now lady patroness! He could not longer resist the importunities of those relatives and friends to transfer his home to the other side of the Atlantic ocean. The time which would have been spent in the enjoy. ment of his mother's society and in preparation for another voyage, was now given to the final settlement of his father's estate and the necessary arrangements for deserting the life of a sailor and getting his pioperty into a convenient form for investment in some safe business on land. X *I XLII . - Wht 8 d t r T a O U THE Julia lay at anchor in the Mersey. Her cargo had been discharged, she wore a new coat of paint, and her cabin was in the neatest order. The busy craft around her eyed the American brig with curiosity and wondered what she was about. Those who knew did not choose to tell. On a fair, bright day she loosed from her moorings and slipped out to the centre of the channel. There she dropped anchor, furled sails, raised the Stars and stripes and St. George's cross at stem and stern and sent her prettiest pennant streaming from the mast-head. A few sailors, dressed in their best rig, looked eager and expect- ant as they talked together abaft ships. Captain Egbert Hartsum, dressed in blue coat and brass buttons, white vest and blue pants flowing wide over the boot, looked handsomer and graver than usual. Soon after the Julia had taken her position and thrown out her colors, a small boat darted from the shore and landed on her decks two passengers; these were Dr. and Mrs. De Seiple. They were on their return to India and had come in the Julia to England, at Egbert's request, on purpose to celebrate this auspicious day. Hardly were the missionaries welcomed When another boat came along- (381) page: 382-383[View Page 382-383] 382 '"TuIE JULIA." side, and Suetoanis and Cleopatra Blanche, Estelle Saltore and Caroline Blanche clambered up the side and were received on deck. With cheerful but. subdued greetings the whole party passed on to the cabin, Carrie leaning on Estelle's arm. The sailors followed. The ladies threw aside the light outer coverings they wore and stood revealed in the beauty of their bridal adornments. Carrie wqre the veil and orange blossomins; Estelle looked the paler of the two as she placed the hand of her gentle sister in Egbert Hartsum's. Christian De Seiple solemnized the rites of marriage, pronounced them man and wife and blessed them with a goold man's benediction. Thus, in the "dear Julia," consecrated by 'so many memories, and in the cabin where all that bridal party first met, and wlhere Egbert Hartsumn first kissed Caro- line Blanche, were those two joined together for better or worse till death should them part. The same party again met on board the Julia. It was on a Sunday morning. , A large company gathered there with them, chiefly sailors, sea-captains and officers of merchant vessels, and some brought their wives and chil- dren with them. The Julia had undergone a complete transformation. Her three masts, nearly stripped of rigging, protruded through a wooden canopy that covered the whole deckk, and from her mainmast was displayed a Bethel flag . She had nobly done her work upon the ocean, and no longer' capable as in her younger days of buffetting the storm and tempest, she was still to serve the cause of commerce and mankind as at floating seaman's chapel. j To this holy use she was set apart by Christian De . .,? THE CONSECRATION. 383 Seiple, sole survivor now (for Mr. Jamles too had been called away from earth), of the four missionary ministers who first hallowed with prayer and sacred songs the good brig Julia. It was anL occasion to stir the heart of the pious clergyman. He spoke as men only can speak when the whole soul is fall. 1ie related the history of that brig. He told with great simplicity and cando'r the story of the missionaries' first voyage in the Julia to India; how they were thwarted and discouraged at first, but incited and sustained by the piety of Walter Strong, gave themselves to prayer. HHe told how God answered their importunate petitions, and graphically described the 'scene when, in th e mid-ocean, every soul on board knew and felt that God was with them' of a very truth. He enlarged impressively on the fGct that from that day to this God's blessing had rested onl the Julia. She had traversed nearly every ocean and never met with one serious mishap. She had visited some hundred differelnt ports and left a good name for herself in each. Her colors had never been soiled by one act of insubordination among her- crew, or one neglect of acts of generous gallantry towards other vessels afloat upon the ocean.. On board of her religion had ever been a practical and influential principle; mlany a wicked sailor had blessed the day on which he signed her articles, and dated then/ce the happy event of his conversion. He alluded to the Julia's three captains, father, friend, and son. Truthful, and beautiful because truthful, was his portraiture of Captain John Hartstum. With admir- rable tact and delicacy he presented the picture of Cap- tain White as the prompt a:rnd efficient officer, just in dis- cipline, the friend of his men, and the modest but earnest page: 384-385[View Page 384-385] 3814 ." TIE JULIA." advocate of morality and religion. Affectionately he spoke of the gentle, prayerful, active piety of Captain Egbert Hartsum, of whom it could be truly affirmed, that he "had feared the Lord from his youth." He claimed that the history of the Julia, was a proof of the admirable adaptability of the Christian religion to the practical life of mankild, and a demonstration of the fact that irreligion is not,a necessity of a sea-faring life. Every ship might be a Bethel, and the fleets of commrce r I become a Christian navy for the evangelization of the earth. Ministers and merchants, missionaries and sailors, are allied in their work. All must do their share. And I :; the world would be converted when the motto of the nautical hero was adopted in its highest sense, "HEAVEN expects every man to do his duty!" Finally, he concluded with an intelligible and forcible summary of Christian doctrines, showing that its power is of God, communicated through Jesus Christ, and work- ing mightily in the inner man by the Holy Ghost. Then he dedicated the Julia to the holy worship of God and the preaching of His word, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, to whom be glory for ever. Amen. None listened to the discourse we have thus feebly de- lineated unmoved. But above the rest, Estelle Saltore was deeply affected. Her great gray .eyes never turned from the speaker's face.. Her expressive countenance replied to every word he spoke. She lost all other con- sciousness in this one absorbing interest. The Julia's story was not new to her, but the conviction that these were God's doings was. Christian De Seiple swas not eloquent, if judged by the higher style of oratory. She i TIE CONSECRATION. 385 herself, by mere voice and action, could have, and often lad, exerted a rore commanding influence over the feel- ings of an auditory. But the effect of this discourse was due to something stronger than eloquence-to the power of God's eternal truth. She had heard preaching, but never faithful, fervent, demonstrative preaching like this. God spoke by the mouth of His servant. The simple truths of the gospel, tha doctrines of grace, that had ever befobre been esteemed by her sometimes a mys- tery, and at others an absurdity, now, for the first time, appeared simple, intelligible, and self-evident. God was pouring down light from tihe most excellent glory on her own darkened understanding. She saw, she felt, she be- lieved.. The humble missionary, whose ambition it was to con- vert the Hindoos, was the appointed instrument of leading England's greatest actress to sit with Mary at the feet of Jesus. It was written of the Julia that another soul was born in her. The name "STELLA" never. blazed again in flaunting capitals on side walls and in public thoroughfares. It never again resounded in the plaudits of theatrical assem- blies. "Stella was no rmore. The sudden extinction of this dazzling star took the world by surprise. The world was sorry, was angry, was amused; but the world, volatile and unstable, soon forgot the nine days' wonder that the actress had been trans- muted into an enthusiast, and almost forgot that there had been a "Stella." Estelle Saltore lived to learn how vain and evanescent is the glory of'theatrical fame; for she lived to know that actors and actresses far inferior in merit and in genius obscured the names of "Nora" and of "Stella." Those who make it their business to amuse 17 page: 386-387[View Page 386-387] 386 "THE JULIA." the world receive their pay and must consent to be dis. missed when their part is done, or when they cease to be amusing. "Who now mRill regenerate the theatre? asked r I- th theatre ?, asked A3&.. Blanche one day with a smile. 'He who first regenerates society, answered Estelle promptly, 'A corrupt suciety must have amusements to its tastes. The theatre is the offspring of a pleasure seeking world. Purify it, conform it to a Christian stand. ard, and you kill it, and drive the world to some other expedient to stimulate and pamper its sinful and passion- ate love of mere pleasure! ' "I am not sure I understand your philosophy of the thing,', said the practical Cleopatra Blanche, lbut I am glad of one thing that we shall never have to go to the theatre again." "I never saw Cle' uncomfortable and apparently not enjoying things,) said Mr. Blanche, laughing, " except on the few occasions when I persuaded her to go to thle theatre to see you perform, Estelle. "It was not, cear Estelle," said Mrs. Blanche, with concern, " that I did not admire you and like to see and hear you. But, somehow, the spirit of the place never suited me. It seemed to me as if- every one was making a toil of pleasure, and, trying to be happy or to seem to be happy, when they might have been really happy, without trying, if hey had only stayed at home. I don't understand it, but it is true as Suetonius says, that the theatre always made me sad. I could not for my life help saying over to myself all the texts from Ecclesiastes about vanity and all that. And once the words of the Apostle John about the world came so strongly to mind, that it seemed to mne as if they were THE C ONrSECRATTON. 38N written on purpose for theatre-goers, and I felt that it must be sinful to be there at all." "What words were those?" asked Estelle. Cleopatra got a Bible and finding the place, handed it to Egbert, who read aloud: "Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever." . Egbert and Caroline Hartsum, with a moderate com- petence, are happy at Thornbrake Cottage. They are the mainstay of the dissenting chapel at Willoughby. Suetonius and Cleopatra Blanche, at Clinchley Hall, imitate the good deeds of their brother and sister after the more formal and traditionary fashions of the estab- lished church of England. Estelle Saltore is always' engaged heart and soul in some project of benevolence-a church, a school, or a, mission. She has visited India that she might see for herself and judge of the missions there; and she is their staunch and ardent friend. She is full of business; can1 hardly find leisure,for her visits to Thornbrake Cottage and Clinchley Hall, and soon indeed tires of their quiet life, which Cle', who still likes everybody and everything., except theatres, does not cease to wonder at. The Julia lies in the Mersey, always neatly painted and well cared for, with .a regular chaplain in charge. Beside her may often be seen a jaunty yacht, built after her model and bearing her name, "The Julia." She is the page: 388-389[View Page 388-389] 388 "THl-E JULIA. 1." joint property of Suetonius Haaze Blanche, Esq., master of Clinchley Hall and Mr. Egbert Hartsuin of Thorn- brake Cottage. Many pleasant excursions are taken by the two captains and their families in thatfairy little, ves- sel; pleasant and useful excursions, for wherever the Julia sails, whether cruising amidst the Orkneys, or dropping anchor in the crowded harbors of Great Britain, she car- ries with her a missionary spirit-Bibles, tracts and words of counsel and fervent prayers for all and especially for the sons of the ocean. The two captains are true to the lessons they learned and the blessings they received on the dear old brig- THE JULIA. THE END.